


A Story with Too Many Words

by Lacquiparle



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alec Hardy Needs A Hug, Bickering, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Minor Character Death, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacquiparle/pseuds/Lacquiparle
Summary: Newly appointed DI Miller is faced with one of the most challenging cases of her career when she and DS Hartford find the body of a twelve-year old girl deposited in a brush outside of Broadchurch.  What appears to be a straightforward case proves much more sinister.  As the case unravels, Miller and Hartford discover it could destroy the lives of numerous people involved, even the person Miller loves the most, Alec Hardy.FINISHED!  Yay!
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller, Beth Latimer/OC
Comments: 44
Kudos: 137





	1. A Scandal in Broadchurch

**Author's Note:**

> “Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent,” from “A Case of Identity” by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
> 
> Idea, story, and writing inspired by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the Gabriel Fernandez case.
> 
> My apologies on any terminology. Feel free to correct me in the notes!

The body was revealed in a secluded area underneath a hedging, concealing mosses in an overlay of rocks and tubulars that were already beginning to overtake the young girl. The child was prepubescent based off DI Ellie Miller’s account, who flicked the latex gloves from her hands and shoved them deep into her pockets. An unsettled sensation overwhelmed her stomach and she flattened her hand against her abdomen, worried she might lose her breakfast there in the foliage. DS Katie Hartford followed close behind, her boots cracking on pine and twigs as she pressed her fingers against a branch out of the two women’s paths. 

“Should we head back to CID? Notify Brian?” Katie’s voice was soft, her body contorting to take in the scene of the body and the vegetation and the rocks. It wasn’t just the body that they were called to take notes on; it was the greenery and shrubs as well. If the young girl’s blood hadn’t been splattered on a nearby boulder, Miller commented that it looked like a faerie ring. The light shone differently here. 

Miller pulled out her phone, her thumb gliding seamlessly over the blue screen until she pushed a button. A familiar voice said “yeah” on the other end.

“Send SOCO Brian out here. Looks like child abduction and sexual misconduct,” Miller paused and looked at Katie, but didn’t say more. 

After she hung up and the two detectives began walking back to Katie’s vehicle, the younger woman said sympathetically, “You know, it’s okay. I don’t mind if you talk to him or say… something. Don’t you have a child together or something?” 

Ellie knew what Katie meant, but the woman was also young and inexperienced and didn’t understand the dire ramifications of dating one’s superior. Plus, she didn’t exactly trust Katie, not since the Winterman case and the subsequent Pearce case when Hartford nearly blew the job. Hardy told Miller it was due to inexperience, but Ellie still didn’t trust her, and she certainly didn’t trust her with her personal life. 

When they approached the green Subaru, Ellie placed her hands on top of the car’s hood, reflecting on the choice of her words. “Fred is mine from a previous marriage.” 

“Joe Miller?”

Ellie nodded, anticipating that Katie would drop the conversation. “Go back to CID, grab Hardy, and I’ll wait for SOCO Brian and the team to get here. I’ll collect more evidence, too.” 

Katie waited a moment. “You know, I don’t judge you…”

“Hartford.” The young woman grimaced—perhaps at the slight or the fear of botching the job—and sunk into the Subaru. Ellie reached into her pockets for another pair of gloves, ready to walk back to the faerie ring when Katie’s electric window whirled and Ellie was, yet again, face-to-face with her leaning over the car console. 

“I’m just saying I want to support you. We’re like…” the woman appeared to be looking for words and then smiled, “Watson and Crick!”

“Do you mean Watson and Holmes?”

Katie leaned back into her seat, exasperated. Hardy had told Miller to make nice, to realize that Hartford feared Miller who could…

_I am not a bitch if that’s what you’re insinuating_ , she had said to him. 

Katie didn’t say anything, the window clicked and rolled up, and she drove off. 

&

CS Elaine Jenkinson retired shortly after the Winterman case, and when a young man was found dead, a clean incision near his left kidney, former DI Alec Hardy was internally promoted to CS in Broadchurch’s CID department. The few who suspected something unprofessional was going on between Hardy and Miller kept a tight lip since Hardy was officially her superior, but when Hartford accidentally lost a key piece of evidence, she managed to let slip to several coworkers that Hardy and Miller were also unethically Alec and Ellie. A few words were pieced together in relation to the situation and Ollie, Ellie’s own nephew, casually let slip on Twitter that an “internal affair” was brewing at CID. “Could fraternizing with her superior cloud Miller’s judgement?” Ollie wrote in a tone that broke through black and white print. The Pearce case suddenly became the Miller and Hardy case, and behind closed doors, Ellie begged Alec to relocate Katie.

“She is a good detective. She has a good mind for it. She’s just inexperienced, ‘s all,” was always his explanation, which generally capped the lid tightly on any peripheral areas of contention in their relationship, professional or personal. 

“Hardy, she’s going to get one of us fired or fuck up one of the cases. I just know it.” 

Alec looked over his specs at her, his eyes wide and questioning as he rummaged over a thought in his mind. He was in his finagled office at her house, which would eventually become an actual office, peering over documents on the Pearce case late into the night. “No one is getting fired.” 

He looked back down, back at the document detailing black-market organ trafficking, just in case something beyond imaginable took place between Pearce and his girlfriend, Shelley. He was mumbling to himself, but it seemed that Ellie wanted to fight. 

Hardy was not Jenkinson just as Ellie’s guidance and demeanor as DI was remarkably different than Hardy’s. Except, it appeared, when the boiler reached a certain threshold and Ellie ran her teeth and lips together, patching an argument together for her conquest. 

“She lost that interview Shelley gave to me and then…” Ellie quieted her voice as though anyone could hear what was going on between them, “leaked information.” 

“You really consider our relationship leaked information?” 

He got up from behind the desk, behind stacks of files and sheets of paper, and several books, coming around to face her. She squared off; her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Alec was tired and she could tell. The case was draining him, and the stress was wearing his body down. 

“Do you really think our personal relationship could get one of us fired or is all of this… maybe too much for you,” he gestured to the room, a metaphorical gesture to the house, the home, their hodgepodge life together, “right now?” 

Ellie turned on her heel and stormed away from him, not quite ready to discuss the conversation always brewing underneath each subsequent fight since the end of the Winterman case when they both finally realized that reality was staring them directly in the face. Alec didn’t follow her. Fred was down for the night and the risk of waking him carried grave consequences. Tom might not be asleep, playing games on one of his devices, or texting with a girl. Who knows, Alec thought about the young boy, who did not take kindly to the new man in his mum’s life. Tom didn’t quite hate Alec, but he avoided him like a fifteenth century plague doctor might avoid a plague. If Tom had to interact with Hardy, he would with curt politeness and sterility. 

When Alec did finally amble up to bed, Ellie was under the sheets with her back to him, but she was clearly not asleep. 

“Why is this always a fight?” He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the web of laces from his Oxfords. 

Ellie rolled over. She wanted to tell him that everything was still too new, that she had trusted Joe implicitly and he had dashed all her hopes and beliefs and faith, and sometimes Alec expected too much from her. In their job and in their relationship. He needed to listen to her sometimes. 

“It’s just a lot, Alec.”

“Well, you say that quite a bit recently.” He tediously unbuttoned his shirt before tossing it over the back of the chair in their room. His torso was pale, littered with scars from procedures and one too many ECGs that had begun to tear at his skin. Once Alec realized there was a chance with Ellie, he didn’t just walk toward her; he sprinted with all his insecurities and awkward hopes and dreams. Their first night together, he came with an adoration of love for her and she nearly didn’t text him back. He did all the wooing and she did most of the running away. 

Thankfully, Fred started crying, a welcome invitation amidst the tension. Alec proceeded to answer the call, but Ellie stopped him with a reminder that the boy was her child until Fred, exhausted, asked pleadingly for “Da.” 

“Alright, you win,” she said with a tone unfamiliar to Alec. Maybe, she reasoned to herself, Fred missed Joe. 

&

The Pearce case closed late in August and now sitting at her desk, Miller pulled a fresh manila file for this new case in October. Strickland, she wrote in black ink. October eighteenth, to be exact, as she wrote it on the appropriate documents. She was scribbling away when Hartford appeared near the door jam, resting awkwardly with a coffee in hand. Miller looked up before going back to filling out the customary paperwork. 

“Need anything, Hartford?”

Hartford set the coffee down, so unbelievably similar to bygone days when Hardy and Miller were the DI and DS in office working on the Danny Latimer case. Katie hesitated, started, halted again, and then, “I don’t think this case is how it looks.” 

Ellie frowned before Katie handed her a previous _Times_ newspaper from several weeks ago. “Child Torture on the Rise,” the article read with a photo of a chubby faced boy around eight-years old. The photo had clearly been taken some time before he died, or even before the abuse had reached its zenith. Ellie glanced over the article, which detailed how investigations of child torture were often overlooked due to ineptitude in social work and criminal investigation in the justice system. The child in question, a boy from Norfolk, could have lived if only infrastructural place holders like therapists, doctors, and coppers listened to the boy. Some snobby academic made some trite comments. Ellie looked up at Katie.

“Okay, what do you mean?”

“Brian said the girl wasn’t just raped, yeah?”

Ellie winced. Maybe they were too sanitized to these types of situations, so when Katie didn’t say assaulted, “rape” felt strangely out of place and hyper criminal. Assaulted felt clean in comparison. 

“They found burn marks on her body, around the girl’s vulva, slashes around her torso and her genitals, and…”

Ellie stopped her. “I see your point.” She looked over the article again. “But this was in Norfolk.” 

“I’m not saying there is a direct connection, but Brian said it took him two days to do an autopsy on this girl’s body. That’s incredibly abnormal.” 

When Miller looked up at Hartford again, the appearance on her face looked pleading. For a moment, Ellie thought back to seeing Danny’s limp body on the beach and felt those distant memories from emotional response to clinical inquiry. Ellie knew she was a good DI, but suddenly clarity flooded her mind and Hardy’s comments made sense to her. Alec liked Hartford because she was demonstrative and sensitive like Ellie once was. 

“What do you suggest we do?”

“Check medical records on the girl.” Hartford paused. “We need to interview social workers after we interview the parents.” 

Ellie nodded. Medical was safe bet but going after social workers was something Ellie would have done. It was risky. 

&

At lunch, Ellie texted Beth about pedophile cases around Dorset, wondering how much Beth was privy to and what her thoughts were about the differences between abuse and torture if they were any. 

_Loads_ , the text came back. 

_Your thoughts or the differences?_

_Both_ , Beth quickly texted back. 

_Want to grab coffee? I have some questions for you._

Ellie thought about sending the questions via text but before she was able to type her requests out, Hartford was calling her.

“Yeah.”

“DI Miller? There are a few roadblocks.”

Ellie was trying to shove her fish into her mouth as best as she could without choking. “What do you mean by that?”

“No idea where the parents are, and she lived with guardians.”

Ellie attempted to swallow her food, wipe her face, and talk concurrently which proved quite difficult. “Call the hospital and then track her legal guardians down. I’m going to chat with SOCO about her wounds and then I’ll be upstairs.”

Beth didn’t immediately respond, so after shoving down her fish and chips, Ellie made her way to Brian’s office. He was standing around with his team, presumably discussing the girl’s case, when Ellie subsequently barged in unannounced. Ellie loathed these types of situations. The aching silence after riotous laughter or fleeting murmurs that spread like a contagion through a transfer of bacteria. Coughs, sneezes, and whispers followed, and Miller awkwardly stood there staring at the group of men that had clearly been discussing something worth silencing themselves about in the presence of a coworker or a woman or Ellie. 

“Can I help you, DI Miller?”

“Yeah, I want to talk with you about the Strickland case. Hartford is calling the Broadchurch Children’s Hospital as we speak.” 

“Why’s that?” Jeremy piped up. 

“That’s why I want to talk with Brian. The autopsy took two days, yeah?” 

“Yeah. Extensive abrasions, lacerations, battered skull, fractured sternum, shot in the genitals…”

“She was what?”

“We found BB pellets in her genitals.” 

Miller paused. “BB pellets in her genitals,” Miller repeated to herself absentmindedly in an imprecise attempt to grapple with the Strickland girl’s extensive trauma. 

“Splinters in her stomach.”

“Splinters?”

“Yes.” 

“Have you performed a two-day autopsy before?”

Brian paused, looked at Jeremy and Richard briefly as the latter shook his head. “No, I don’t believe I have.” 

Miller’s phone buzzed, presumably Beth texting her back. “Alright thanks.” 

When Ellie left the SOCO’s office, she pulled her phone from her trouser pocket and glanced down at the screen. Hardy wanted to know about picking Fred up after work. She sent a quick reply before checking to see if Beth had responded. Nothing yet. 

After Mark left Broadchurch, Beth continued her work with the crisis center and eventually met some bloke named David who worked in administration at the center. Unlike Mark, David came off self-effacing. Sanitized. The first time Ellie met him at a school function where Fred and Lizzie were performing in a school play, David’s circular specs settled on the bridge of his nose was the one thing that absolutely threw her off. Otherwise, he seemed perfectly normal. At times, too normal. 

“Does Alec like _Bake Off_?” Beth asked one evening when the two women were finally catching up over a glass of wine after several weeks apart. 

Ellie had to seriously think about this question. Alec didn’t like telly no matter the program and tended to grumble if she forced him to watch one of her shows, so did Alec like _Bake Off_? 

“Alec doesn’t like telly.” Ellie finally admitted rather dryly.

“Oh, yeah, what am I saying.”

Ellie took a labored sip of her Merlot before persuading her friend to divulge details. “Why do you ask?” 

“David loves _Bake Off_. It just seems odd to me.” She didn’t offer much more information, and despite Ellie’s curiosity, Ellie didn’t press Beth. “Does Alec like anything?”

Indeed, Alec liked some things. He adored Daisy, loved Fred, and tried to get along with Tom as best as possible. He liked bringing resolution to a situation and restoring justice. 

“Of course, Alec likes things. Just not telly.” 

&

Beth didn’t text Ellie back until that evening. Alec and Ellie decided to modify parenting duties that weekend, so Ellie was taking Fred to his first football game while Alec had agreed to take Daisy and Tom on a walking holiday over the weekend. Enthused with athletic potential, Fred ran screaming around the house while Tom sulked upstairs affronted with teenage angst. Something about _he’s not my dad_ came moaning out of his mouth to Ellie, who rolled her eyes and told him to pack enough pants for the weekend. 

“You sure are grumbly enough sometimes to be related to Hardy,” Ellie whispered under her breath when her phone dinged. “Oh, it’s Beth,” Ellie announced, shoving Fred’s wee football boots into his duffel bag. She paused. The text appeared cryptic, asking Ellie if she was available to get together tomorrow to chat. 

_Of course. Fred’s just got his game tomorrow. Available around 1?_

_Yeah. Coffee at the Bean Shoppe?_

Ellie agreed before she looked over at Alec who was sitting on the edge of the sofa, trainers in hand, his fingers toying with the laces.

“Dawning on you that you’re responsible for two teenagers this weekend?”

Alec looked up at the sound of her voice chiming playfully. “No, that’s not it. I was thinking about the Strickland case.” 

Ellie crouched onto the floor and leaned her body back onto the heels of her feet. “What are you thinking?” 

“Katie interviewed medical today, yeah?”

Ellie nodded. “We ran into trouble finding the parents and legal guardians.” 

Alec nodded, thinking. “Makes sense, doesn’t it, though? You talked with SOCO about the autopsy?”

Ellie watched the familiar pattern on his face, herself attempting to assemble the thought pattern running through his head. Times like these, she missed working with Hardy, when their thoughts jolted and jarred against one another before discreetly coalescing and then they managed to solve a case. Even a fucking missing cow could be a thrill. 

“You’re going to talk with Beth tomorrow?”

Once again, Ellie nodded, but Alec started shoving necessary items back into his duffel. 

“You think there’s a missing link somewhere?”

Alec paused and looked at her again. “I do, but I don’t know if it’s medical, social workers, the family, or even us.” 

“We were never called.”

A faint crimson pattern etched itself across Alec’s cheeks and freckled nose, and Ellie, unexpected realization dawning on her, got up from her stooped position and walked toward him. She saw the outlines discourage her from his thoughts, attempting to forego her from reading the suddenly jumbled pattern in his brain. But she knew it. Oh, she saw it clear as day. “We were called, weren’t we?”

Alec nodded.

“It was Katie, wasn’t it?” But it wasn’t Katie and Ellie knew it. _Please, no, say it was Hartford_. 

Alec’s cheeks flushed deeper. “No. It was me.” 


	2. A Case of Mistaken Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Miller and Hartford dig deeper into this new case, Miller must face remnants of neurobiological trauma from her past that threatens to resurface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind comments. They are very much appreciated. 
> 
> “One in five (US) Americans was sexually molested as a child; one in four was beaten by a parent to the point of a mark being left on their body; one in three couples engages in physical violence. A quarter of us grew up with alcoholic relatives and one out of eight witnesses their mother being beaten or hit.  
> As human beings we belong to an extremely resilient species... but traumatic experiences do leave traces, whether on a large scale (on our histories and cultures) or close to home, on our families, with dark secrets being imperceptibly passed down through generations. They also leave traces on our minds and emotions, on our capacity for joy and intimacy, and on our biology and immune systems.  
> While we all want to move beyond trauma, the part of our brain that is devoted to ensuring our survival (deep below the rational brain) is not very good at denial... it may be reactivated at the slightest hint of danger... These posttraumatic reactions feel overwhelming... survivors often fear they are damaged to the core and beyond redemption.” From _The Body Keeps the Score_ by Bessel van der Kolk
> 
> For more information (including potential warnings?), please see the end notes.

It was night. Feathery, dark tendrils threaded through the trees, casting strange shadows on the ground. Already Autumn’s tantalizing textures were changing patterns in the climate and colors in the foliage. 

Under duress, the man looked around feverishly, hoping that no one would catch sight of him or the girl walking nearby. She appeared preoccupied, making comments about why she needed to get home and how she didn’t bring a jacket and she was cold. 

He pulled her to him, almost gently. 

“It’ll be ‘right,” he whispered, drawing his arm about her narrow shoulders. He looked down at her. She was so small, so young. Her flaxen hair was drawn back into a plait down her back, but the fringe couldn’t hide the bruises on her forehead. He looked closer. Her hair looked like frayed straw. 

He faced her and drew her ruddy cheeks into the palms of his hands. 

“Girl.” He extracted a breath around the word and the dull smile she drew up for him made his heart sing. She had stopped smiling long ago, at least since her parents had moved to North America. 

She swallowed and averted his eyes. When he pulled her to him, she went limp in his arms like a doll. 

“It’ll be ‘right, girl.” He repeated. 

&

Nine months ago, the earth froze with hoarfrost covering branches that reminisced spectacular shapes and colors. Trees bellowed to the ground with the weight of the frost and snow obscured the earth under its dreary veil. 

Ellie’s back was exposed to Alec, whose heat had not yet turned on that early morning and whose home was dark and cold. He supposed she was still asleep, yet he could not help himself; he wanted to wake her. He wanted to touch her. To speak to her. He ran the pointed tip of his finger down the length of her upper back between her shoulder blades and she stirred. 

He pressed himself closely into her back and whispered her name. “Ellie,” he breathed into her ear. He could not quite say how long it took for her to reciprocate to his advances, but that first night together, he couldn’t help his behavior. “I love you.”

“Why is your house so cold?”

He grew quiet, unsure of how to respond except for the barebone facts of the situation. The heat was turned low. 

“Do you want me to turn the heat on?” He finally responded, but Ellie didn’t say anything, and she didn’t physically respond to his hands inching their way over her body. Maybe, he wondered, she regretted it. 

Several days later, he texted her, asking how she was doing and if the boys were alright. 

_Everyone’s fine_. 

Ellie, the loquacious people person turned traumatized victim of her husband’s brutality. At work, she was the same DS. Smiles and good-natured humor. But outside work, on her own and in her own right, her mind couldn’t quite come to terms with what had happened. Millions-year old evolution was at play and her brain would sort it out once it was done enclaving her in a protective fold. 

The Pearce case didn’t help. A young man killed at the hands of his girlfriend who cut out his kidney, which Miller and Hardy presumed was sold on the Black Market. Except John Pearce, a friendly bloke with a lopsided smile and a strong work ethic was raping his girlfriend who took the law into her own hands. The kidney was just one part of an elaborate revenge narrative that the two uncovered over the span of nine months. Their last case together. The girlfriend, Shelley, went to jail, which Ellie couldn’t rectify. On the side of the law, it made sense. 

“If I could, I would cut out Joe’s kidney and leave his body on ice. Let him die a slow, painful death.” The comment came out of nowhere shortly after they fucked. If Alec thought of their night together that way, the ache didn’t sting so much. Making love, he thought, was for people in love. Fucking was for relief and pent up energy. 

“No, I don’t believe that.”

She gave him an incredulous look as though he didn’t truly know or understand her. Like he had slapped her across the face. “Try me. I’d eat his heart.” Then after a moment, she sighed deeply. “I keep worrying he touched the boys.” She quickly brushed stolen tears away from the corners of her eyes. 

At that moment, Alec realized he didn’t understand her pain. What Tess did to him was betrayal, but what Joe did to Ellie was abuse and now she was facing the long-term consequences of a marriage riddled with “what-ifs.” They were looking over reports on the Pearce case, when Alec reached over and touched her hand. Gave it a gentle squeeze. 

He didn’t understand, but he wanted to try. 

&

During the investigation into the Pearce case, Alec informed Ellie that he had received a call from an anonymous local who gave him a tipoff about a young girl that would eventually become the Strickland case. The local was a neighbor who had enough information about the girl to suspect that some level of abuse was going on. Alec took down the information and sent over an investigator, except it wasn’t someone from CID. 

“Who was it then?”

At times like these, when Alec’s eyes bore deep and dark into her, she regretted asking more from him. The breakdown in investigative inquiry was not just someone on their team, but Alec himself, and now he was asking her to trust him. “Someone in administration from the crisis center. The follow-up was that the bloke didn’t find any evidence of abuse. Granted, he was new at the time.” Alec pulled his specs from his face and began ruminating in an obsessive turn once more. 

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Do we have a mutual acquaintance with this administrator?” 

Alec nodded. 

“I wonder if that’s why Beth wants to talk this weekend.” 

“El, you need to treat your meeting with Beth like an interview. Consider recording it.” 

Except, she told him, she suddenly didn’t feel comfortable pulling Beth into the recorded and ephemeral past, as well as Beth’s own concretized history with tangible interviews and CID. Danny’s death nearly broke Beth; it destroyed her marriage and ruptured several tethers connecting Ellie and Beth’s friendship from adolescence. Ellie had stalled packing for Fred’s football game and was leaning against the sofa. 

“Tell me again what happened.” She finally said after a lull in conversation and a smattering in thought that threatened to broach the silence.

“I didn’t go over after the call. We were working on the Pearce case and the allegations of abuse interrelated with the crisis center. I thought they would send over Cass or someone at the top, not David. He’s not new now, but at the time he had only been working a handful of months. I don’t think he even recorded his visits to the home.” 

“This situation could get you fired you know that.” 

Alec nodded. “I know.” 

Ellie shook her head, but didn’t respond, the sudden, affective realization overwhelming her. CID could be pulled into a legal battle if charged with improper investigation. At the very least, Hardy could be laid off. 

“It’s my fault, El. I should have known better,” he suddenly said. 

Ellie craned her neck back and looked up at him, reaching her hand to touch his knee in a comforting gesture. “It’s not.” 

“Just,” he leaned forward, grasping her hand in his own, “Get as much information from Beth as you can. Do what you need to do and how you need to do it. It’s for the girl.” 

&

After Fred’s football game, Beth texted Ellie, asking if they could forego coffee and take the kids to the beach. She told Ellie in a long-winded text message that she was feeling nostalgic and wanted the sensation of the salty sea on her skin. Like when they were young, Beth texted, twining that painful tendon of friendship. Before life settled into corners and petulance overcame juvenile frivolity. 

Despite his game, Fred ran and tumbled with Lizzie in the sand while Beth dug her feet into deep beachy silt. She said it felt good and grounded her. 

“What’s going on?” Ellie finally asked. 

“The little girl.” She folded her arms around herself. “Just reminds me of Danny. I haven’t had nightmares in years.” 

Ellie touched her shoulder, longing to encase her most cherished friend in an embrace. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

She looked down at her feet, cutting through the grit. “I asked for some time off while I see a counselor myself.” 

Ellie realized this was the underscore behind the text and the strange cryptic meaning. If anyone understood those years, it was Ellie, even when they were torn apart due to Joe. 

“Mark and I don’t really talk anymore. Chlo sees him during the summer and I don’t think Lizzie realizes he exists and that he’s her dad.” She paused. “And David, he’s great, but he doesn’t understand.”

Ellie couldn’t help but snort at the sentiment. 

“Is Alec still a knobhead, too?”

“Probably even more of a knobhead since we got together.” 

Beth’s eyebrows knit together, and she turned to face Ellie. “Why? What’s going on?”

Ellie debated about undercutting her friend and scoring evidence or seeking vulnerability to patch deep wounds that had long festered between them. Suddenly, she opted that the latter would mobilize the former. “He wants to get married.”

“What? Ellie, congratulations!” Beth began to hug her, but Ellie stopped her friend. The frown on Ellie’s face spoke volumes about the turmoil inside the pit of her stomach. “Why don’t you want to marry him?”

“I think Alec has loved me since Danny’s case.” Beth looked surprised at Ellie’s pained statement. “I know, I was just as shocked as you. But he’s ahead of me in the relationship, planning our future together. He accidentally let slip he wanted to expand our family. I thought he meant a dog.” 

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know. He’s so good to the boys, even though Tom hates him. They need him in their lives. And,” she swallowed hard at the thought, “I do love him, even if he’s the biggest arsehole in Britain.” Tears smarted in her eyes. “I just don’t think I’m ready. Not quite yet. And now with this case.” Ellie hesitated. “There’s a lot going on with the case, which makes him…”

Beth nodded empathetically. “I get it. They think you want a cuddle during _QI_ , but really you just want to rant and scream about the injustices in the world.” 

“Oh, god, exactly!”

Beth stroked her arm before entangling their arms like they used to when they were young. “I know what you mean.” 

“What do we do then?” 

“We could run away.”

Ellie laughed deep inside her chest. It felt good to laugh. “Nah, can’t do that. I’ll chat with him some time. Just not now. The case is… it’s weighing heavily on me, too.” Lizzie was about to pelt Fred with a handful of sand and Beth shouted at her to stop. The little girl looked at her, confused, dropped the sand, and began to cry.

“They’re tired.”

Beth and Ellie stood up from their perch on the beach, dusting the sediment from their clothing, and picking up the items they brought with them. 

“Yeah. Listen, Beth, do you know about reports that funneled through the crisis center?”

Beth called Lizzie to her and wiped sand off the girl’s face. “Looks like you’ve had a lot of fun.” Holding Lizzie’s hand, Beth stood up straight and thought about the question. Fred stumbled toward Ellie, exhausted, entreating to be picked up. 

“You’re too big now, but I can hold your hand.”

“I’ll look into the case for you. I don’t remember the case crossing our files, but you never know.” 

&

Late Sunday night, when Alec came home with two physically exhausted and emotionally drained teenagers, he informed Ellie that Fred was not allowed to become a teenager.

“I don’t think we have any control over that,” she said. They were in bed, a hot compress on Alec’s lower back, and reports on Ellie’s lap. “I am glad that you lot had a good time and that Tom didn’t toss you off a cliff.” 

“I don’t think he hates me. It’s more apathetic disgust?”

“How is that different than hate?”

“Energy level.” 

He ran his hand up Ellie’s thigh, attempting to scurry underneath the paperwork, but all he did was cause her highlighter to dash across the page and aggravate her. As a few papers fell beside her, they repositioned themselves and Alec attempted his routine seduction tactics: kiss her neck and say naughty things. Or, at the very least, annoy her. 

“Stop.” She brushed his hand away, returning to her paperwork. Her voice wasn’t characteristically yielding, distinctive of what was to come. He kissed her shoulder instead. “Alec, not tonight.” His behavior, the desire to be comforted, reminded her of aching memories of Joe. Her stomach knotted and an overwhelming scorching sensation charged through her sternum. 

“When was the last time we had sex?”

She paused and thought about it, the bodily sensations pulsating still, but not intensely. “I don’t know. A few weeks ago?”

“Nearly three months ago.”

She looked him unswervingly in the face. “I am busy and incredibly overwhelmed with this case. I don’t have the time and,” she returned to her paperwork, adding in a low tone, “I don’t really want to.”

Alec grabbed his pillow, grumbled about the annoying tendencies of the heritable Miller personality, and said he was going to sleep on the couch. 

“I see where Tom gets it.”

“Gets what?”

“His stubborn streak.”

“Hardy, are you listening to the words coming out of your mouth? Who is the stubborn git in this house? You.”

“I thought the hike would do him good, loosen him up a bit, but no. It intensified his stubbornness. Like you.” 

“You’ve never done a hike with me.” Ellie intended the retort as a quasi-joke, a jab and a joke bundled into one, but Alec tossed the pillow aside and shoved her papers onto the floor. “My papers!”

“We would murder each other on a hike.”

&

Early Monday morning, Hartford practically accosted Ellie in the kitchenette about the medical examiner’s report. Speaking swiftly, she said the report was limited at best, apart from the girl’s early years with her grandparents but gave enough detail of foul play. Miller had barely put the kettle on at work, when Hartford was shoving the report into Miller’s hands and telling her they needed to call the parents in for an interview immediately. 

Miller looked over the file but didn’t see anything glaringly obvious and told Hartford that. “It looks like a clean record.”

“Exactly.” Hartford sided up to her and pointed at the details. “The girl wasn’t brought into the doctor, not even for a physical, for the past five years.”

Miller pressed Hartford’s elbow. “Good job.” Hartford flushed and then beamed, appearing proud of her work. “Did you speak with anyone directly?”

“I just requested medical reports. She doesn’t have a pediatrician, which suggests lack of medical care.” 

“Let me grab my parka and we’ll head over to the aunt and uncle’s residence.” 

The Strickland residence was thirty minutes outside Broadchurch, a pig farm which struck a chord in Miller’s head. She thought of the beautiful dwelling the girl’s body had been deposited, the ethereal faerie ring, a dichotomy for the girl’s final resting place. The coping strategies were beginning to perturb her more and more, especially since she was fighting with Alec at home and felt she was unable to maintain a friendship with Beth. 

The road was bumpy, and Miller felt the second cup of coffee sloshing uncomfortably in her stomach. She tried to make sense of the countryside outside the car window. 

“Have a good weekend?”

Katie’s voice dredged Ellie out of her stupor. “Yeah. You?”

“Some of my mates and me caught a flick at the cinema. You like those _Avengers_ films?” 

“Oh, my boys do.”

“We went and saw the new that just came out. _Endgame_?”

“Tom wants to see it. Is it any good?” Ellie peaked at her phone. Several texts from Beth were firing in rapid succession about the Strickland case. 

“Pretty decent, yeah. How old is your boy?”

“Hold on.” She read the texts, which informed her that someone inside CID dropped the ball on the Strickland case. Crisis services were intervening, getting their lawyer, and acting against CID and the investigator who didn’t intervene in time on the situation. Something inside Ellie’s guts began to churn as she realized the gravity of what Beth was texting her. Unexpectedly, she felt overwhelmingly, blisteringly hot, like a fire deep inside her belly was flourishing and promising to burn her alive. She wasn’t sure if she was going to faint, vomit, or erupt in a pathology of tears. 

All she knew was that she needed to get out of the car immediately.

“Katie, I need you to pull over. _Now_ ,” she added forcefully. Her voice, echoing in her ears, sounded frantic. 

Beth’s final text said something about a lawsuit. 

Hartford swerved and barely missed a ditch, Ellie dragging herself out of the car to vomit into the abiding field. She heaved; her breathing labored against her backbone and she could hear her vertebrae pop against the pressure. She spat on the ground, the saliva browning the soil a deeper shade of earthen rust.

“Katie,” she respired, sitting up with her elbows on her knees. She was still sweaty, still nauseous. But she could process what was about to happen. “I need to talk to you about something.”

The young girl had gotten out of the car and was beside Ellie, offering support, “Yeah. Anything.” 

“This case is a lot more involved than we realized.” 

“What are you saying?”

But Ellie couldn’t respond and couldn’t tell her what was going on. Instead, she grabbed Katie’s arm and began to weep. 


	3. Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New information regarding the Strickland case emerges, but Hardy has a different theory. Ellie struggles and worries Alec wants too much of her too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind comments, and I promise there will be more Alec and Ellie! <3
> 
> "Tell me now, where was my fault/ In loving you with my whole heart." From "White Blank Page" by Mumford & Sons

That night, Ellie didn’t stumble into her home until past midnight. The house was quiet save for a few appliances humming in gentle melodic unison. Her bedroom light was on, which she quickly corrected, _our light_. Before she labored into bed, she checked on the boys, her nightly routine since she left Joe so many years ago. 

Alec was up, reading some paperback clutched in his hands. She closed the door and he asked how the interviews went.

“I don’t think they did it,” she said and slumped down on the edge of the bed.

“How can you be so certain?” 

She slipped her shoes off and unbuttoned her trousers. “I’m sorry for going a bit potty yesterday.”

He leaned over and rubbed her back reassuringly. “Don’t worry, El.” Alec knew from the same experiences and disparaging encounters how Ellie felt and he often reassured her that it was why he warned her to guard her emotions and to limit her pool of trust. Behind her, she could feel him. Their distance growing and settling into these moments of complacency. Briefly, she wondered how long this could last. 

“I think this case is going to kill me.” Her voice sounded so thin to her ears, so unlike the stubborn, resourceful woman she had come to know over the years. She turned to face him. “You were right about Hartford. I think she’s really leading this case. We went to interview the aunt and uncle.” 

She pulled her trousers down and began unbuttoning her blouse. “Hartford put out a search warrant for the parents. Nothing’s turned up.” Her blouse unbuttoned, she stared distantly off at some unknown thought. “It’s been a long day.” 

“What do you need?”

“Could you get my pajamas for me?”

It was a simple request, but one large scale enough to soothe her. He got up from the bed and grabbed the garments and handed them to her. 

“I know things are tense, but just be patient with me, yeah?” She grabbed his hand and he nodded knowingly. She informed him about her day from vomiting outside Katie’s car to the girl’s pig farmer aunt and uncle who lived outside Broadchurch. 

“What were they like?” Alec asked, mentally drawing up a picture. 

“Poor.” 

“Were they reasonable?”

“Seemed so. Both gave saliva swabs, if that’s what you mean.” She pulled her pajamas on and crawled under the duvet, into bed. 

“Did they talk to you? Give information?” 

Ellie’s thoughts blurred together like a train on a track, fast paced and shuffling incoherently. She recollected the farm, the unpleasant stench of the pig wallow, and Mr. Strickland’s hand grabbing hers in a firm handshake. He and his wife were pleasant enough, sitting across from Hartford at the kitchen table. 

“They were amenable. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.”

“Why do you think they didn’t do it?”

Ellie pulled the duvet up to her chest, thinking of Joe, once the kindest man in the world. “Shit people aren’t always criminals.” 

&

Tuesday evening, Alec and Ellie were meeting Beth and David at the Three Horseshoes pub. Given the inclement, brooding autumnal weather, Ellie and Beth agreed a cozy pub with a fireplace sounded timely. Plus, Ellie texted Beth, if conversation went south, they could get in a game of backgammon and divert all conversations to board games instead. 

At half five, Alec bustled into the front door with Fred in tow from a trip to Tesco. Alec planted the groceries in the kitchen as Fred attempted to help Alec, which invariably meant Fred pulled more from the cupboards and caused a raucous. 

Ellie walked in, reminding Alec about their double date at the Three Shoes that evening. 

“What, you never said…?” But Ellie gave him a firm look, Fred’s arms firmly wrapped around Alec’s right leg. 

“We talked about it last week.” She looked him up and down. “You can wear that, just take off the tie.” She then darted up the stairs, yelling to Tom to remind him that he was to watch Fred and not burn the house down under penalty of death. The lad meandered out of his bedroom, rubbing his face until it shone red.

“What?” 

“Why do none of the men in this household listen to any of the words coming out of my mouth?” 

On the drive to the pub, Ellie updated Alec about the case, informing him there was still no information about the parents. She interviewed the social worker, some woman named Lily Smith, who had taken over for Cass who was running the Broadchurch Council. 

“It was just protocol. What did you know about the girl? Did David take any recordings?” Ellie looked in her review mirror. There was a strange truck behind them, and she realized the truck had been following them for a while.

“Does David know anything about the case?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Lab reports say it could be anyone within an eight-hundred- kilometer radius, so that is not overwhelming. The girl’s family is cooperating. Grandparents are deceased. Aunt and uncle gave saliva swabs yesterday, which are pending. Another uncle is in Wales.” 

She palmed the steering wheel, glancing in the mirror at the truck behind them, before she peered over at the passenger seat. He was staring out of the window. “What?”

“Sometimes I miss working with you. In the field, that is.” 

She smiled at his sentimental comment and ran her hand up and down his thigh. “Who knows. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll bring you to work with me this week.” The sound of the blinker carried them into silence. “I don’t know much about this bloke except that he had these … glasses.” 

“Glasses?”

Ellie gazed back up into the mirror and noticed the truck was gone. “Yeah, they’re just, you know, odd.” 

“You could text Beth that Fred is sick, and we had to go home.” 

“I can’t do that, and you know I can’t.”

“Or we could pull over for a quickie.” 

She shook her head but grinned at his childish comment. “Absolutely not. It’s nice to get out and meet new people.” 

Alec’s chortle sounded like a donkey coughing. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“I certainly do. It’s why I like you sometimes.” 

He took her left hand, cupping it between his hands, and a peculiar apprehension changed in the air. A tension that Ellie had only been familiar with once before in her life. A strange dread overcame her, and she heard Alec tell her to watch out. She snatched her hand from his hands and placed both of hers firmly on the steering wheel.

She knew that Alec wanted commitment. He had hinted at it, made gestures toward it, and had asked her implied, vague questions. Once, in a moment of attempted congeniality, he even asked Tom what sort of things his mum liked, such as flowers, jewelry, that sort of thing, Alec had specified. 

She avoided it, not because she didn’t love him or maybe because she wanted the same thing, but because of that looming cloud hanging over her. The ghost that she ran from nearly every day once she uncovered the lie Joe had ensnared her into.

Ellie and Alec showed up to a merriment of clattering pint glasses and low murmurs around a blazing fire. She had texted Beth that they pulled up and her long-time friend quickly texted back that she had already grabbed them a table nestled between the bar and fire. Alec had expressed to her that these frequent gestures between her and Beth could also help repair their friendship. At least, over time. 

“El!” Beth called, gesticulating toward herself and a handsome fellow nursing what looked like a whiskey. Ellie tried to get a good look at him. Beth had met him through the crisis services center, and he appeared remarkably different than Mark. When she first met him, the first thing Ellie noticed were round rim specs nestled atop his nose. They seemed out of place, just as he seemed out of place. Oddly handsome, David was peculiar in a way that appeared too much for Broadchurch. He was compassionate, which was exactly what drew Beth to him and what she needed, but he also seemed distant and at times naïve. Later, Alec told Ellie he didn’t like the bloke, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. 

Almost immediately, Ellie said she didn’t want to talk about the case. She sighed and informed Beth she’s overwhelmed with work. 

“I’ll get you a G and a T, then?” Beth said, drawing Ellie closer into an intimate, friendly space. “How are things apart from work?”

“Oh, the usual. Freddy is starting football and proving his lack of athletic abilities and Tom is a moody, hormonal teenager. What else is new?”

“Chlo is going through the same thing. I sometimes forget we were once moody, depressed adolescents, too.”

“Seems like ages ago.” 

Alec and David made awkward chit chat nearby, discussing the weather as the two women caught up on the recurring events in their life. 

“Bit nippy out tonight.” David mentioned.

“’Tis.” 

“We probably shouldn’t make the boys suffer.” Beth snickered. 

David laughed, his chuckle coming out more like an inappropriate gurgle. Alec stared at him, then Ellie, and then Beth, before glancing back at David one more time.

“Sorry about that,” David said, adding that sometimes social situations made him uncomfortable. “How’d you two meet?” He changed the subject, nodding toward Alec and Ellie. 

Alec brushed his hair back from his forehead and glanced at Ellie for some type of cue about what to say. 

“We worked together, and I hated him because he stole my job. Well, we still work together, but I don’t hate him as much anymore.” Ellie remarked with a twinkle in her eye.

“Oi! And whose fault is that really?” Alec said, referring to the situation involving Jenkinson and a coverup to protect Sandbrook. 

“And then the rest is history, I suppose.” Ellie finished for them, as well as an attempt to stop Alec from fuming. 

“Is your work alarmed that you’re dating your superior?” David asked nonchalantly, but Beth tapped his arm signaling him to hush with a smirk and a laugh. Ellie and Alec turned from each other to face David once more. 

“What do you mean?” Alec asked, placing his hand protectively on Ellie’s knee. When his hackles raised, he became alarmingly shielding and she either appreciated it or rolled her eyes at his behavior. 

“You could get fired, couldn’t you?”

“David, that’s enough.” Beth interjected and then told Ellie she loved Ellie’s jumper, intending to change the subject. But David didn’t want to stop probing this newfound line of inquiry he happened upon. 

“Is that what happened with your ex? She felt she couldn’t get out of her marriage?”

Alec abruptly stood up, pushing his chair back. The wood chair skidded loudly along the wood floor and several other patrons stared at the group. Ellie mumbled his name and Alec apologized, but Beth curtly told David to drop the issue once and for all. 

Before the four of them left for the evening, Alec turned and watched David apprehensively, nothing the bloke shoved his specs into the back pocket of his trousers. _Odd_ , Alec thought, but Ellie grabbed his arm and the two drifted outside of the pub and he forget about David and his glasses. 

Later in the car, Alec told Ellie to get a background check on him. 

“Just because someone is odd doesn’t mean they’re a child raper,” she said.

“But he’s also the one who mishandled the situation.” 

Ellie didn’t push the situation. She wasn’t in the mood, at least not tonight. 

&

After Ellie and Alec had arrived home and checked on the boys, Miller’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. When she ignored the call, the caller persisted until she grabbed her cell and noticed it was Hartford. 

“Is it serious?”

“Saliva and semen tests confirm it’s the uncle,” Hartford answered dully over the phone. She sounded exhausted. Probably up reading the uncle’s profile and information.

“Are you sure?”

“Almost one hundred percent positive.” 

Miller told her she would get dressed and be into the office in fifteen minutes. As she wobbled out of bed, sleep still hanging about her, Alec asked if she needed anything. 

“Watch the boys tonight,” she paused, hiking her trousers up. “Maybe keep them out of school tomorrow. If Hartford’s news is correct, I’m worried Olly will be all over it.” She grabbed her shoes before adding, “the little shit.” 

“It’s the uncle?”

“Supposedly.” 

Alec paused, feeling for his glasses. “Make sure about the DNA sample from the girl.” 

“Why?” She was rushing to grab her cell and keys. 

“There are too many missing pieces.”

Ellie stopped and debated about asking Alec to come into the office with her. Most days he worked from home to tend to Fred, so they didn’t have to pay a child minder, but something instinctual gnawed at her. 

“Hartford isn’t ready for tonight.”

Alec moved to sit at the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. “She has a good handle on it.” An intuitive “but” hung at the end of the sentence. “Don’t let her interview the uncle alone.” 

“Would you do it?” She unexpectedly asked. 

“I can’t.” 

Ellie remembered the lawsuit looming dread over their heads. Thus far, they hadn’t heard anything apart from Beth’s cryptic message, but Alec was removed from the situation as best as possible. 

“Be careful. Don’t let the press or the fucking Twitter get ahold of this until we’re ready to release information.” 

When Miller walked into CID that night, Hartford was already preparing their grand finale to arrest Richard Strickland. Coffee and scotch egg in tow, Miller dropped her things into her office and found Hartford to go over the reports. 

“Exact DNA match,” Hartford said, grinning from ear to ear, as she presented the findings. 

“You’re not wrong,” Miller said, going over the report, “but you’re also not right.” 

Hartford suddenly looked crestfallen. “I don’t… what?”

Miller pointed to other notes SOCO made. “Clearly, the uncle was doing something to this girl, but look,” she circled Brian’s transcripts where there were no matches. “Either she was being sexually assaulted by multiple people or somehow other DNA matched.” 

“What are you saying?”

“Hardy said this case is complicated and I tend to agree. It’s not going to be cut and dry. This is who did it. We’re done. No, there are too many missing pieces.” 

“You don’t think the uncle did it?” Hartford shoved SOCO’s notes into the Strickland file and crossed her arms, visibly frustrated.

“I’m not saying that.” Miller took a swallow of her coffee and pondered the case. “The girl goes missing, we get a call, and her body is brutalized. It’s not a sexual assault or murder case. What we’re looking at is torture. Over a significant amount of time. Did one person do this or multiple people?” 

Hartford nodded. 

“Maybe there are other bodies.” 

“So, we bring the uncle into custody and interview him.”

Miller agreed. “Right now, he’s our first lead. And we need to be careful. Record everything.” 


	4. A Tapestry of Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More details come out concerning the case, and the reader gets insight into Hardy and Miller's beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “A couple may claim to be bonded by love, but we boatmen may see instead resentment, anger, even hatred. Or a great barrenness. Sometimes a fear of loneliness and nothing more. Abiding love that has endured the years—that we see only rarely.” From _The Buried Giant_ by Kazuo Ishiguro
> 
> Song reference to "You Really Got a Hold on Me" by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles (the She and Him cover is great, too). There is a significant more amount of Ellie and Alec, as opposed to just Miller and Hardy. <3

After the Winterman case closed, Ellie felt erstwhile eyes on her from across the room at CID. They were anxious eyes that flitted and fluttered, darting any time she attempted to make contact, ridden by apprehension and fretfulness. If she so dared to try to demand something from them, they scurried away from her gaze like frightened field mice. 

She knew Alec was gauche, especially in situations that demanded certain etiquette, but his prevailing ill-at-ease demeanor was weighing heavily upon her. He hadn’t left Broadchurch, as she expected, but now he was actively avoiding her at work. Frequently when they were done for the evening, Alec would grub his things, tucking his files under his arm, and darted out of the door.

One weekend evening, the boys at Lucy’s, Ellie found herself passing by Alec’s blue bungalow, the lights noticeably on throughout the house. She trailed up to the front door and knocked. A teenage girl answered and asked who Ellie was and what she wanted.

“I’m Ellie Miller. Does Alec Hardy live here?”

The girl looked apprehensive but yelled for her dad about “some woman named Ellie Miller,” who responded with a thick Scottish brogue that he would be there in a moment. If he was angry and frustrated, tipsy, or embarrassed that internal part of him came tumbling out. 

The girl, presumably Daisy, looked Ellie up and down, surmising the older woman standing before her. 

“You’re Miller, huh?”

Ellie confirmed that, indeed, she _is_ Miller as she said, whatever that might mean. A cheeky grin spread across Daisy’s face and she said, letting Ellie into the house, that her dad frequently talked about her. Ellie blushed. Whatever _that_ might mean. Daisy glanced at her again, somehow in on some secret.

Alec came tumbling into the front room, attempting to put together his tie.

“Oi! What are you doing?” Daisy cried, batting his hands away from his professional get-up. “Did you change?”

Alec instinctually blushed and Ellie looked down at her own feet. Daisy guided her dad away from the scenario, the two speaking in hushed tones away from whatever was about to happen. Ellie swallowed certain she had made a mistake. 

When Alec reappeared, the tie was gone and he looked more laidback, albeit decidedly more uncomfortable. He nervously clutched at his hips and licked his lips. Daisy was noticeably absent. 

“I just wanted to stop by.” Ellie said, this time with more confidence and her familiar smile. 

Alec nodded, but said nothing.

Ellie clutched her handbag closer to her body, and once more, Alec avoided her gaze. From down the hall, soft music began to play. 

“Is that Smokey Robinson?”

“Aye, Dais is really into the classics.”

Ellie grinned. “Like her dad.” Alec agreed and rattled off a few names—familiar and new-- dad and daughter enjoyed together. Ellie absentmindedly began to hum. The two fell into a familiar configuration—Ellie clutching her bag, humming, while Alec swayed to the rhythm. 

But then, Ellie asked abruptly, “why are you avoiding me at work?”

Alec tossed his body backwards, as though he had been found out and appeared instantaneously annoyed and ashamed by this sudden revelation. It wasn’t like he wasn’t obvious, practically running away from her with clear determination. Unless he was staring at her. From across the room. 

“You’ve been a bit wonky, haven’t you? Are you ill?” She leaned into him, placing her hand over his pacemaker. “Is it your heart?”

It was almost too much for Alec, whose head dropped, and heart beat rhythmically out of sync and far too fast. He wondered if she would notice the sudden change of pace.

“Are you ill, Hardy?” She asked, this time her voice fell to a softer decibel and she moved perceptibly closer to him. Still not looking at her, he covered her hand with his left hand, over his pacemaker. And his heart. He could smell her. If exhaustion had an aroma, hers was indistinct rosemary and mint that still clung to her hair from that morning. 

But he pulled away, exhaling. “No. I’m not.” 

When he finally looked her in the eyes, he couldn’t muster the courage to say anything. Instead, she searched him for answers. And questions. 

&

Richard Strickland and his wife were pig farmers outside Broadchurch. When Miller and Hartford drove up, the younger of the two detectives scrunched up her nose and immediately grabbed for something to cover her face. 

“Oh, that smell is awful.” Hartford nearly wretched into her empty coffee cup.

“Never been around farm animals, have you?”

Hartford shook her head no. “You?”

“Not really, no. I don’t really mind the smell of them, though.”

Hartford asked why, but then retracted her statement with an apology. In the field, a detective gets used to the repulsive scent of filth and decay. When she was considering becoming a copper, one of Katie’s old mates asked if she was prepared to smell the sickly scent of dead bodies. She had laughed, as if proud of the idea, of taking on the finitude of death. Now it all seemed overbearing and cataclysmic. At times she wondered if she would become bitter like Miller or a depressive recluse like her old boss, Alec Hardy, had become.

Miller raised her brows. “Shall we?”

The Strickland house reminded Miller of an old English countryside farmhouse, but dilapidated and forlorn with memories attached to the awnings. The kitchen sink was already filled with dishes for the day and Mrs. Strickland was sitting in front of the telly, absentmindedly pushing buttons and smoking a fag clutched between her fingertips. The smoke hovered around her, capsizing her body into a foggy current.

Mr. Strickland, in shit covered wellies, welcomed Miller and Strickland in and offered them a cuppa. 

“No, thanks.”

The moment he caught sight of Miller’s face, his own dropped and sagged. 

“We wanted to ask you a few questions about Grace Strickland, your niece,” Hartford began.

“I told you I don’t know what happened to her. No one has seen her. Not in a few years.”

Hartford looked at Miller, but Ellie didn’t know how to interpret the young woman’s features floundering into an opaque assortment. They were still new at this tango, attempting to navigate each other’s approach interrogation and examination. Hardy would have arrested him on the spot, forced him into CID, and asked him a round of questions. Miller felt she needed to be more alert; hold her cards close to her chest. 

Mr. Strickland nudged his chin forward toward the door and all three bustled out the front door, leaving Mrs. Strickland smoking in front of the telly. Outside, he toiled, but then said flatly. 

“Look, I’m not the bloke you’re after.”

Hartford looked at Miller again, waiting for her signal. “Wha’dya mean?”

In the dim light, Strickland was unkempt and greasy. Under his fingernails, years of earth and soil housed until it was part of the keratin luster. 

“I ain’t the man you want.” 

Miller knew what she had to do, and as she quoted Strickland’s rights to him and made the arrest, she thought of Hardy and Danny Latimer and the interjected moments in-between. All the errors that were made and expunged from her memory. 

Strickland didn’t resist, but he also didn’t surrender, either. He felt gruff under her hands, and all-too readily, she realized as she led him to the car, she felt small and out of her element.

&

Whatever evidence Richard Strickland was able to give, he recoiled from the term “pedophile.” That word seemed repugnant to him, even as Hartford reminded him the DNA sample linked his niece Grace to him. 

“I’m most certainly not a pedo. I’m not related to her. By blood, that is.” 

Hartford’s face twisted into a grimace of confusion. “That’s not what a pedophile is.” 

“All I’ saying is I didn’t do anything to Grace.” 

“Alright, Mr. Strickland,” Miller shifted tactics. “Please tell us the last time you saw Grace Strickland and where you were on Friday at about half eleven at night.”

Mr. Strickland leaned back in his chair, ruffling his beard with his nails. He hadn’t removed his wellies and the room was rapidly filling with the objectionable smell of pig feces. 

“My wife and me had fed the pigs and we were in bed.”

“Your wife can verify this information?” Hartford interjected.

“Aye, she can.” 

Hartford wrote something down, but Miller wouldn’t budge her gaze from the uncle’s gaping, gummy lips. He rocked the chair back and forth. 

“When was the last time you saw Grace?” Miller repeated the question.

“Some time before her parents moved to the U.S.”

Miller paused, hesitantly. So far, they had no leads or information on the parents. “Where are her parents?”

“Not sure.”

“Why did they move to the U.S.?” This time it was Hartford. 

Strickland leaned back into his chair again, reflectively. “Visa.” 

“Grace isn’t American. She’s a British citizen.” 

“She ain’t and her parents aren’t American.” 

Miller could feel her heart pounding. “Why did they move to the U.S. then and why did they leave Grace in Broachurch?”

Strickland leaned forward heavily onto his forearms. “I want to speak to my solicitor.”

v

Inside her office, Miller leaned against her office wall and felt tears broaden against the ducts of her eyes. She had texted Hardy and asked him to come in, at least for moral support. 

_Bring the kids or drop them off at Lucy’s_. She had texted him, but there was no response. At least not yet. 

Hartford opened Miller’s door and quietly shut it, a cuppa in hand. Miller brushed the tears from her eyes and thanked Katie for the tea. 

“Case getting to you?” 

Ellie nodded.

“Me too.” Katie stitched her lips, rubbing them together out of nerves. “I called Grace’s school and her teacher is coming in for an interview later this afternoon.” 

Ellie mumbled a jumbled _ok_ before she set her tea down on her desk. She leaned against the wooden frame, pressing her hands on the panel of the desk. 

“Medical has no information on her. Her uncle won’t talk. Her parents are,” Ellie waved her hand. “We have another connection.” 

“What?”

“Someone called a social worker and filed a complaint. I’m pretty sure I know who took the call.” 

“Why haven’t we contacted them?” Katie suddenly moved toward the door, securing it.

“They’re the section admonishing us for not doing more into this investigation since the person who initially took the call was someone from our team. We referred the case to Cass, or they thought it was Cass.” 

Katie sat down in Ellie’s chair, stroking her mug thoughtfully with her fingers. “It was Alec, wasn’t it?”

Ellie didn’t reply.

“He did what he thought was right.” 

Ellie’s phone lit up from an incoming text. She glanced down and noticed it was Alec, informing her that he was on his way and that he dropped the boys off with her sister. 

“I won’t tell anyone.” 

Ellie felt a splinter of mistrust course through her body, remembering that it was Hartford who burned that bridge long ago when she revealed that Alec and Ellie were together. Suddenly, she wanted to chastise her, to tell her to stay out of her business, but the exhaustion from the case was running her down. She didn’t respond to Hartford except a polite nod. 

“I know that we’ve had our differences, back since the Winterman case, but this could ruin the case and our jobs.” Katie offered a peace treaty of sorts and Ellie thanked her for understanding. Ellie felt Katie’s hackles raise. “I’m not stupid, Ellie.” 

“I know you’re not, but you’re right. Our jobs might be on the line.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think after this I'm just going to write fluff and crack.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @deathfugue for pictures of ponies <3


	5. The Crooked Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miller finds new evidence that could change the outcome of the case, while Ellie finds out how Tom really feels about Alec.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for any and all comments and kudos. <3
> 
> “All children have to be deceived if they are to grow up without trauma.” From _Never Let Me Go_ by Kazuo Ishiguro

It wasn’t long after Ellie and Alec closed the Winterman case that they found themselves alone at Ellie’s home, frustrated with a new, smaller case that should have been settled ages ago, and consequently, frustrated with each other. The boys were at Beth’s so that the two detectives could singularly focus on the case, and Ellie noticed that the hour was drawing late. Open containers of take-out were strewn across the kitchen counter and Alec was still obsessively trying to make sense of the case. A burglary that would not allow them to stitch the semantics neatly together. 

Ellie remembered she was tired and already going on little sleep. How long she had been dependent on sleep aids, she couldn’t recall, but add a boisterous Hardy to the mix and she was incredibly exasperated. It had been several weeks since their awkward tete-a-tete at Alec’s bungalow, and here they were, delicately dancing around the inevitable that seemed sure to happen.

She was in the kitchen putting the kettle on when Alec appeared behind her. He was reaching around, grabbing something, and she went one way and he ran right into her. As they collided his hands ran up her shirt and she grabbed him to her. Against the kitchen wall, they found themselves, hot, heavy, annihilated. Intentional or not, it happened, and they undressed one another, their mouths brazenly feverish under the cool kitchen light. 

Afterward, she couldn’t pinpoint the emotions she tied to Alec’s sudden declaration of love or the act itself. It had all been so fast, and as she told her therapist later, she was caught up in the moment with her superior. Once after Joe left, she wanted love, but she also wanted the return to normality. 

She wanted to cling to an anchor. 

&

When Alec arrived some time before Hartford and Miller were to interview Grace’s teacher, the veteran investigators went over notes in the Strickland file. Slowly, Alec began to piece some type of narrative together, outlining Grace’s obfuscated case on the wall behind his desk. 

“Friday, we find the girl’s body, but she had been abused for some time,” he wrote out several notes which he stuck on the wall in his office, indicating prolonged abuse, dates unknown. “Parents out of the country, as far as we know.” Ellie nodded. “We don’t know where the legal guardians are.” He paused, flipping over several pages of her files. “Her family’s not from the UK?” 

“According to Mr. Strickland, no.” 

“Her school should have that information. Why don’t we have that information?” 

Alec suddenly stormed out of the office, brushing past several people in the office, down to the investigation room where Mr. Strickland was currently sitting. Ellie, trailing him, grabbed Alec’s arm before he could pull the door open. 

“You can’t go in there.” 

“It’s in front of our fucking eyes.” Alec fumed, running his hand through his hair. 

“What?”

“The aunt and uncle. They’re the guardians.” 

Ellie froze. “But,” she faltered. “No. It doesn’t add up.” 

Alec explained the DNA connection, the location where the girl went missing in conjunction with the Strickland farm, and Mr. Strickland’s vague responses to Grace’s whereabouts as well as her parents’ current residence. 

“But he didn’t murder her.” 

“How can you be so certain, Ellie?” 

Ellie’s face dropped and she crossed her arms. “SOCO found other DNA at the site. I don’t think it was the uncle or he’s covering for someone else. Plus,” Ellie hesitated at the utter depravity of the statement. “He’s a pig farmer. Dumping the body in the middle of a hedge makes no sense.” 

“Then he’s covering for somebody or he’s covering for his own fucking arse.” He made to turn, but quickly stopped. “You and Hartford are interviewing the teacher later? What time?”

Ellie nodded. “Half seventeen, after she gets off work.” 

“See if you can contact Cass.” 

Ellie made a face, but Hardy was already strolling away, his long figure heading toward the exit. 

&

Cassandra Thompson was a tall, industrious woman who often worked in tandem with Anna from the sexual assault referral agency where Beth worked. Already tall at just over 180 centimeters, Cass capitalized on her height by wearing excessively large, clunky heels. She said that to receive her PhD in psychology from UCL, she needed to assert her abilities through dominance. 

Ellie didn’t want to admit her exhaustion, but the image of Cass effectively towering over her reminded Ellie that she was going off limited sleep now. 

“How can I help you, DI Miller?” Cass asked, removing a pile of paperwork from her desk and clearing enough room for the two women to take notes. 

“I have a few questions about a referral sent to your department several months ago. I believe David took it.” 

Cass turned to her laptop and pulled up the system’s extensive database. “Name?”

“Er,” Ellie paused. “Grace Strickland.” 

Silence fell between the two women as Cass quickly typed, scrolled, and leaned forward into the laptop’s light. She squinted. 

“I see that a referral was sent, yes. A few comments were notated. Nothing of significance recorded.” She scrolled down further. She moved away from the laptop and looked at Ellie. “What exactly do you need information about?”

“The young girl was reported missing and CID found her body dumped in a hedge near the Strickland farm outside Broadchurch. The body was severely mutilated and clearly had been abused. There is no information about her parents and my DS is currently looking for her legal guardians.” 

Cass sunk back into the light of the laptop. She picked up her phone, dialed several numbers, and waited. “David, yeah. I have a few questions about a case you reported on back in the spring. Are you available?” 

Ellie could hear a familiar staccato mumble on the other line, David’s distinct echo buzzing through. A queasy feeling overcame her, and she remembered Alec’s request to run a background check on the bloke. 

Cass mechanically laughed. “Of course. I’ll ask if the DI doesn’t mind waiting.” She hung up the phone. “He’s with a client right now. Would you mind waiting a few minutes?”

“Of course not.” 

Cass directed Ellie toward a lounge where they had tea and biscuits available for clients who were waiting on available counselors. The room was a lovely shade of blue, offset with an off-white trim. The small room was almost comforting, Ellie thought, as she sat down on a rigid chair that pressed firmly into her tailbone. She attempted to rearrange herself, failing miserably, so she moved to another chair which was far more unpleasant to sit in. 

Sighing, Ellie gave up, grabbed a biscuit, and sat aggressively upon the chair. She nibbled on her biscuit and peered down at her phone, her thumb scrolling through text messages. How quickly lives changed, how time erodes the edges of formalities into softness and friendship or preservation and survival. Since Joe left nearly three years ago, her boys had weathered a storm she had never imagined for them. A life cursory to her knowledge of the world. 

Tom had been seeing a school counselor much like the social workers here. But what Tom didn’t want to reveal, he wouldn’t, and sometimes Ellie wondered if therapeutic practices were truly what the lad needed right now. Fred, she hoped, would be alright. He didn’t appear to have much memory of Joe, and she imagined if he did, the wee boy had replaced the former with Alec towing Daisy along as a sudden, nearly reluctant sibling. Fred thought all that utterly grand, but Tom glowered more each day, frustrated with the way his life was evolving. For the most part, Tom endured Alec, and he and Ellie made sure not to flaunt their relationship in front of him, preferring structure and practical solutions to cater to the teenager’s severed psyche. But then Tom would erupt at someone in the house. 

Ellie leaned back into the dilapidated chair and closed her eyes. At times when she felt overwhelmed, she took her therapist’s advice to stay centered and in the present moment. But how, she wondered flummoxed, does one stay in the moment with a dead girl’s case threatening materialization over her? 

She suddenly stood up, that devastating sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, when David appeared in the doorway. 

“Ellie,” he said calmly. She recalled that Alec said something about how his voice grated against Alec’s skin and now Ellie understood. It sounded robotic. Like an inexperienced therapist. 

“How about you come back to my office and we can chat?”

Ellie followed David down a menagerie of corridors until they came to a door with several posters with positive slogans effacing it. “You Matter!” Ellie read with emoji faces littered over the offending reproduction. Inside, David’s office was bare save a few more posters, an office clock, and a cactus on his desk. No pictures. No evidence of a life beyond this room that secluded them from the outside world. 

“Cassandra tells me that you have a few questions about a closed case.” 

Ellie checked in with herself mentally, noting that she needed to ignore his cantankerous manners and pay attention to his behaviors, as well as any information he could give them. 

Ellie pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Could you tell me any information you have on Grace Strickland?” 

Like Cass, David turned to his desktop and put the girl’s information into the databases. As he was scrolling, he pressed his thumb to a name, paused, and then clicked on it. 

“Are you wearing contacts?”

David stopped reading and looked back at Ellie, smiling ambiguously. “No.” He went back to reading the information on the desktop.

Abruptly, Ellie remembered Alec’s comments to her about David, and as deftly as she could, pulled her phone out and texted Alec to do a background check on David. 

“I’m afraid there isn’t much information here.” David turned to face her, interlacing his fingers and placing them on his desk. “We received a referral from CID, and I took the call. There was no substantial evidence of abuse.” 

&

Long after Joe left, nights still bore an ache she still hadn’t resolved. Even with therapy and medication and a freshly painted house, the hitch drawing her back to such absorbing questions detained her at night. Often, she felt Alec’s hand tenderly press against her arm, and she would sigh deeply, and the tears would flow then. Her pillow a wet mess underneath her damp cheek. 

In the dark, against the moonlit outlines of their profiles, she had told Alec about the pent-up anguish inside. The “what ifs” always there lurking, but still out of reach. 

_What if he comes back_ or _what if he molested other boys_ or _what if I knew and just didn’t want to see_?

Enquiries to a vapid unknown. To a cruel fate. To a starkly cold universe. Then for a time, she was still and quiet, the ache inside of her dull to any comportment or prodding. She told her therapist she felt numb. These intervals were the most alarming to her because, at least when she wanted to hurt Joe or breakup with Alec, she felt something real and tangible. Numbness didn’t really feel like anything except the threat of a high tide. 

Now Ellie walked into CID, surer and more perplexed than before. Alec was in the breakroom, boiling his tea in the microwave, rekindling a memory from ages ago, which caused Ellie to smile. 

“Haven’t seen you smile in a while.” He said, looking down at the time. “Fred and Tom are in my office. Picked ‘em both up from your sister’s.” 

Ellie nodded, opened the cutlery drawer, and grabbed a butter knife. “Here.”

“Ah, ta.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “What did you find on David?”

“Well, he doesn’t have a prescription for those specs on his face, does he?”

Ellie smiled. 

“He’s gone through an odd assortment of jobs. Not sure how he was hired by the Broadchurch Council.” Alec grabbed his cuppa and Ellie followed him into his office. Tom was watching something on his phone while Fred was busy coloring in a coloring book on the floor. When Ellie walked in, Fred scrambled up and wrapped his arms about her legs, crying “Mumma.” 

“Come here, love.” She scooped him into her lap and looked over at Tom. “Had a good time at your Aunt Lucy’s?”

“Yeah.” He mumbled over the sound of the movie.

“What did you do?”

Tom shrugged. “Nothing.”

Abruptly, Ellie snatched Tom’s phone out of his hands, tossing the device into her bag. 

“Mum!” The boy cried, indignant at what his mother did. Fred looked up from his coloring, perplexed at the noise. Even Alec nervously shifted in his chair. 

“I deserve to know what you’ve been up to today.” She sighed. “We don’t see much of each other.” 

Tom scowled and muttered something low under his breath but appeared appeased by his mum’s consolation. “Fred and me watched telly at Aunt Lucy’s and then Olly came over.”

“What did your cousin want?” 

“He wanted to know about the case you’re working on.” 

Ellie froze and Alec gazed between Ellie and Tom. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” The boy looked frazzled, as though his mum would snatch another phone out of his hands. “You told me not to say anything.” 

“Good.” And then after a lengthy sigh. “I know you’re a good lad, Tom. We just can’t risk any leaks on this case.” Tom nodded. 

Alec made a comment about grabbing the report and walked out of the office.

“I hate him,” Tom muttered under his breath.

“Who?”

“Hardy.” Tom gestured toward Alec with his chin. “Fred thinks he’s Dad, but he’s not. And you just let him move in with us like we’re a family.” Fred peered up when his name was mentioned but proceeded to continue coloring. 

Ellie moved to lock the office door and sat across from Tom. “Where is this coming from?”

Tom shook his head, chewing on his lip. Tears smarted in his eyes. “I want things to go back to how they were.”

Ellie grabbed him into the enclave of her arms. “I know, love. I know.” 

Alec turned the doorknob only to find it locked and then knocked. 

“Let’s talk more about this later, yeah? You know I love you more than chocolate.”

Tom furiously wiped the tears from his eyes as Ellie unlocked the door. Thankfully, Alec didn’t question why his door was locked, noting Tom grabbing Fred who was placed on the older boy’s lap so they could watch a movie on Tom’s mobile. Alec briefly touched Ellie’s shoulder and then handed her the report. She glanced over it and then paused, looking up at Alec.

“He worked at her school?”

“Look at the dates.” Alec gestured toward a note on the report. “It could be nothing, but his quick dismissal of the abuse and his strange behavior are odd.”

Ellie looked over at the boys, making sure they were consumed by the movie and not paying attention. “What about the lawsuit,” she said under her breath.

Alec moved in closer to her. “I haven’t heard anything, but that doesn’t mean much. I’m laying low. Not putting my nose into anything.” 

Ellie nodded and Alec squeezed her arm. 

“Don’t worry, love.” He muttered, but Ellie didn’t respond to his consolation. She looked over at her boys instead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to "seven" by Taylor Swift while revising this chapter and the next, which influenced two very specific scenes in this chapter and the next.


	6. The Great Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miller and Hartford cross-examine Grace's teacher who provides crucial details that could upend the entire case, and the reader discovers new insights into how Ellie and Alec first fell in love (there's a lil bit of fluff!).
> 
> (Revisions added)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and kudos! I do promise that this story ends well for Miller and Hardy, and there is a semblance of justice. :)
> 
> “But things can be over in horizontal time and just beginning in your body, I’m learning.” From _Swamplandia!_ by Karen Russell

It wasn’t a date, per se, but when Fred rambled on about the Fun Fair coming to Broadchurch, Alec surprised the wee lad (as well as Ellie and Tom) with tickets. It was a paltry summer night, a particular sensitivity in the heat that evening about a month after they closed the Winterman case. 

Fred squealed from the pram’s perimeters and Tom, on the horizon of moody teenager, did his best to look disinterested, but even he couldn’t help the glint that sparkled fresh in his eyes. The fair assumed a precise affect of whimsy. Sweets and the fairground’s dizzying tapestry of rides revolved into an irresistible atmosphere, which any bystander could get caught up in. Even Hardy. 

Ellie had just told her boys that she and Hardy were dating. It was still so fresh and new, like a crisp starched shirt, that saying the words felt strange. But she also couldn’t help but smile to herself. Their initial odd coupling behind them, they slowly fell into something agreeable between them. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” she had said when he showed her the tickets, but he insisted. Or rather, he said, Fred insisted. “Are you trying to show us your good side?” 

“Oh, ha ha, Miller.” He said with his usual deadpan air before sauntering off. Ellie grinned to herself, glancing down at the tickets on her desk. The banter only increased amid them, which fueled the dissonance between unfamiliarity and excitement in her stomach.

She still wasn’t sure how Alec could feel so certain, but then again, her therapist reminded her that Joe did the unspeakable. 

The night of the Fun Fair, she wore jeans and a shirt with her Converse trainers. For his part, Alec wore what he always wore, although due to the heat, he ditched the blazer and black jacket. 

“We look ridiculous.” Ellie said, pushing the pram as they entered the fair grounds. 

“Why? We look how we always look.” 

Tom noticed some of his mates and they greeted each other warmly.

“Mum, can me and Michael ride the tilt-o-wheel?” 

Ellie looked puzzled until she realized it was some ride that would make her stomach turn at the mere sight. She told him to come to the teacups immediately after the boys were done.

Alec awkwardly reached over, and she wondered if he was grasping for her hand. “Freddy, do you want me or Uncle Alec to go on the teacups with you?” 

Fred seemed to have taken a liking to “Uncle Alec” over the past few years, and given the option, enthusiastically shouted for Uncle Alec to accompany him on the dizzying kiddy ride. 

“Good luck,” Ellie laughed as Alec, stooped over, followed Fred onto the mob of flashing lights. She watched as Fred screamed ardently and Alec held on for the duration of the minute-long ride until Fred scrambled down and asked to ride the teacups again. Alec looked a pale shade of grey as he clutched his stomach, but thankfully not his heart.

“I think we need to find Tom, love.” 

“Don’t give me the option for that again.” Alec muttered. 

Ellie laughed. “You okay?” 

“Give me a moment.” 

Tom ambled up shortly thereafter, telling his mum about the tilt-o-wheel and a bloke who threw up after taking a spin on the ride. He determined the puking was more amazing than the ride itself. Ellie gazed over at Alec, who covered his mouth, but thankfully whose face had a bit more color now.

Fred asked if he could ride the teacups again, and Tom said he would take the boy, so Alec and Ellie sat on a bench nearby as Ellie’s boys gallivanted toward the spinning cups. 

“Do you like this?” Alec asked, interlacing his fingers with Ellie’s.

“Yeah, I do.” She leaned over and kissed him. “Do you?” 

Alec leaned his slender body back against the bench and sighed. “I suppose I do.”

“Oh, you’re such a knob.” Ellie laughed and the beckoning lights from the Ferris wheel glistened against the azure sky. The nearby laughter, blissful and buoyant from the bumper cars, lulled her briefly and she felt herself lean into Alec. “Do you want to come over after the fair?” 

He peeked down at her and she could feel his smile upon her. He said something, but she didn’t hear him. She felt him instead. The intensity of his response, the heightened sense of awareness dazed her. 

The years they worked together, they gradually molded into one cohesive unit, and now they were picking at whatever this was becoming. Maybe, she wondered, it was the jubilant cries from the people around her or the scent in the air, but for once in a long time, she felt at peace. 

&

Ellie knew that it had been months, but nevertheless, the intimacy felt unfamiliar. She realized her distance as she stared off, seeking the prism of the glass in the window or the roughen hewed ceiling. She noticed that the paint was edged inadequately. It splattered onto the walls in various spots and she fixated on the specks until Alec paused and whispered her name, drawing her back to him. 

She wondered if it was the case or Joe or a composition of many things.

She heard herself murmur something and Alec rolled off her, running his hands over his face, and sighing a sigh the length of her despair. 

“I feel like I’m hurting you.” 

She didn’t respond, just pushed her shirt down and pulled the duvet up. 

“Am I?”

“I can’t stop thinking about the girl. Grace.” Saying her name burned in her throat. 

“Miller.” He used her surname when he meant something, when he was being congenial. He rolled over onto his side and looked at her. “Why is it always at night?”

“I haven’t been able to sleep for a while,” she responded, eyeing him from the corner of her eyes. 

“Me neither.” 

“I’m sorry that I can’t…” she slumped.

“’s alright, Ellie.” 

She leaned over and pressed her forehead against his, holding him to her in the night. A gesture and a reassurance.

In the morning, Ellie ambled down the stairs toward to the kitchen, yawning and stretching, to find Tom apprehensively talking with Alec about football. The two had differing views on the upcoming season—Tom a longtime fan of Manchester United clearly wanted Manchester to win as opposed to Alec who laughingly said he roots for Derby.

“What?” Tom nearly choked on his toast.

“Yeah, I think they’re alright.”

Ellie came up behind Tom and wrapped her arms about his shoulders. “That’s Alec’s way of a joke, love. He doesn’t know a thing about football.”

“I do, too! I know Derby is shite.” Alec attempted to defend himself, but Ellie smiled, knowingly. Tom looked between the two of them, clearly confused, and then said he was off to school. 

Before he ran out the door, Ellie grabbed him. “Thanks, love.”

“Are you going to marry him?” Tom’s voice sounded apprehensive.

“Would you be angry if I did?”

Tom chewed on his lip and shuffled his trainers. “I don’t know. I want you to be happy, mum, but Hardy’s a bit mental.” 

Ellie chuckled softly. “How about we both think about it for a bit, yeah?” Tom seemed to like that idea and hugged her when she promised him that she still loved her eldest more than chocolate. 

&

Mary Smith, Grace Strickland’s year six teacher, was seated across from Miller and Hartford in Ms. Smith’s classroom. The room was quaint with decorated bulletin boards, educational posters, and friendly reminders to her young pupils about trying and diligence. She had pulled out a box devoted to Grace’s performance in class, with several essays and worksheets that Ms. Smith had saved. Miller reassured Ms. Smith that they were speaking to her only to garner information and that the young instructor was not under investigation. At least not yet. 

“I’m not worried about that,” Ms. Smith replied. “I started filing reports shortly after I met Grace, and nothing was done.” Ms. Smith handed the investigators a report Grace had done. Miller looked at it suspiciously and asked if they could keep it as evidence, to which Ms. Smith adamantly agreed. 

Hartford and Miller looked at one another before Hartford pushed record on the tape player. “Would you mind just giving us information about how you know Grace, your interactions with Grace, and what type of reports you made?” Hartford asked.

“Of course. Grace was in my class last year and she was a bright young girl. She enjoyed maths and science and was equally talented at writing. I noticed that her uniform was a bit shabby, but we have a few students from rural families, and we try not to discriminate. Things changed before the holidays when she came to school one day with a different haircut. It looked like she had done it herself with nicks on her neck.”

“Can you describe the nicks?” Miller interjected.

Ms. Smith touched her neck, attempting to reconstruct the memory for Hartford and Miller, or perhaps even herself. “You know when you shave, and you nick yourself? Her neck looked like that, but she had maybe, a dozen nicks on her neck. Several girls made a few comments because she had developed bloody scabs.”

“The cuts were noticeable.” Miller noted.

“Definitely noticeable, yeah. I spoke with Grace, but she was hesitant to say anything. Eventually she started asking me if certain things were normal.”

“Like what?” Miller asked.

“If it’s normal to hit someone until they pass out or put them in a bath with ice water. Around this time, I filed a report to my head mistress, but nothing was done.” 

“How many reports did you file?” Miller asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. Multiple reports. I reported to my head mistress, I called the social worker, and I even contacted her parents.” 

“Her parents?” Miller interjected. 

“Yes, Richard and Mary Strickland.”

&

At CID, Hartford ran over the information with Hardy that she and Miller had gleaned from Grace’s teacher, including the new information about Grace’s parents. Hartford tossed the file onto Hardy’s desk so that he could go through the copious amounts of notes and abuse reports.

“She documented everything, and save taking the girl home, knew something was going on.” Annoyance strained the edges of Hartford’s voice. She sounded like she was about to cry or break or _something_. “The girl could have been saved if someone… if someone…”

“I know.” Hardy pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and scrutinized the documents. “This is all great stuff, Hartford.” Silence permeated the room.

“There’s something more,” Hartford interrupted and played a recording from the interview. 

_There was a therapist working with Grace?_ The voice was Hartford’s coming through the device. _Who was it?_

Another voice, a different voice came through. This voice was feminine and sounded emotional. _Our social worker. David Nicholls. He doesn’t work for the school anymore. I’m not sure what happened to him, but he developed a close relationship with Grace._

Hartford pushed pause on the recording device and looked up at Hardy. “Don’t you know someone with that name?”

Hardy looked at Hartford who pressed her lips together, almost out of impulse. “Did this woman…”

“Mary Smith.”

“Did Mary Smith give any more information about this David or the nature of his relationship with Grace?”

“It sounded like the relationship wasn’t entirely appropriate. Maybe nothing happened, but there was a breach of trust.” Hartford directed Hardy to a page of notes. “Ms. Smith details more allegations of abuse here and how she reported these allegations, but nothing came of the reports.”

“Who did she report these allegations to?” Hardy asked.

“Apparently the crisis center.”

&

During lunch, Alec and Ellie sat at their usual place of discussion, the bench at the pier. Ellie had gone to the chippy, but Alec told her he wasn’t hungry, or he felt like he couldn’t eat. His response was mumbled and vague. 

When she came back and found him staring into the distance toward the sea, he suddenly asked her why this was happening again.

“What do you mean?”

He leaned forward with his elbows planted onto his thighs. “Pippa. Danny. Trish. How many people suffer in the world at the hands of others who get off for their crimes?”

“If anyone should know, you ought to know. You’ve been in this business far longer than I’ve been.”

He hesitated and then, “Are you calling me old?”

“In a roundabout way, yes, but,” she took a gulping bite and offered him some chips, which he refused, “at least we can help those who have suffered, right?”

He thought about this statement and how he had inadvertently done more harm to several clients who had come through CID and other departments he had worked for. _Maybe_ , he thought. He leaned back and ran his hand soothingly down Ellie’s back. “You okay?”

“I’m not sure.” She wiped her mouth off. “Tom asked me about you this morning.” 

“Did he?” Suddenly, Alec was very keen to hear what this matter concerned. 

Ellie unexpectedly smiled, leaned over and kissed Alec, despite the remaining grease on her lips. “Do you think you want to get married?”

Alec beamed, but became filled with dread if Ellie was unsure or if this was some unspoken test. “What do you mean?”

“Tom wants to think about it and see if he approves.” Ellie set her lunch aside. “I don’t want anything big. Just us and the kids.” They stood up and began walking back to Ellie’s car. “I am sure, I think, but remember I asked you to be patient.”

Alec nodded, remembering her request. 

“I trusted Joe for so long, but you’re not Joe.” She turned then, lunch still in hand, and hugged him right there on the pier, wind flustering her orange parka. 

&

After lunch, Miller informed Hartford that they needed to bring David in for questioning. The interrogation with the teacher provided enough evidence that something was amiss, or at the very least, David could provide more evidence than he was letting on.

“Grab Hardy. He can go with you in case there is an issue.” Ellie advised, and after Katie exited Ellie’s office, the older woman glanced down at her phone. She toyed with it, uncertain what to do. It would be a violation to text Beth and tell her what they found, but then Ellie wasn’t sure what they found exactly.

At this point in the investigation, David hadn’t done anything except cross a few boundaries and subsequently lose his job at the school. She also knew that Hardy had a hunch, but Ms. Smith’s information about Grace’s parents made her head hurt. 

Ellie opened a drawer to her desk, searching for a Kit-Kat. Under duress, she desperately needed chocolate. 

Hardy burst through her door, hanging around the frame.

“Ellie.” His expression looked earnest, although his voice was surprisingly soft. 

She looked up at him, Kit-Kat in hand. 

“Could Lucy watch the boys tonight? We need to cross-examine Richard and David tonight.” 

Ellie tore open the chocolate and didn’t even bother snapping a chunk off before shoving it into her mouth. “I’ll text her. Did you contact David? Can he come in for an interview?”

“No. Grab your things because you and me are going to surprise him at work.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapters are in reference to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the obnoxious amount of alliteration is a small homage to him, too. I've sprinkled in other literary allusions, but the aforementioned are the most glaringly obvious.


	7. The Final Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy discovers who the killer is. The problem is that this discovery only unleashes an unending chain of new problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! <3
> 
> “Do you know what it means to have a wound that never heals […] How can I see anything/ but this: how trauma lives in the sea/ of my body, awash in the waters/ of forgetting.” From “Waterbone” by Natasha Trethewey

The sea scraped along the outer banks of the beach on a blustery Friday morning. The chill in the salty sea air nipped at the young girl’s nose and she covered her face with her mittened hand. 

She stopped abruptly, far enough away from the man who was walking toward her. He called her name, but she didn’t respond. 

“Grace,” he said again. 

She shook her head and sniffed. The air was growing colder, and she wrapped her other arm tightly about her body. 

“I’ll do anything for you.” His voice pleaded, almost whined. 

“Me dad’ll find out.” Her voice choked on the words, but she said them, nevertheless. She had been practicing all morning. Running the words continuously in her head until they felt natural and concrete. 

He began walking toward her and she made a pained gestured, but he didn’t seem to mind. They never seemed to mind, no matter how often she tried to tell them no in her expression, in her voice. 

“I’ll do anything.” He whispered the words for her.

How desperately she wanted to run except that he twined some of her hair between his fingers. Then he smiled.

&

Miller’s pen drummed an asymmetrical rhythm against her notepad, her left hand cupping her cheek. Hardy leaned over his thighs, his cuppa in hand. Hartford stood silently in the corner. All three knew what to say and didn’t know how to phrase it. 

The morning had already been promenaded with a steady string of events that drastically changed the Strickland case for the worse. 

SOCO retraced the crime scene for different evidence that they might have missed, combing each trace of dirt, and overturning every rock. There was surely different evidence, but Brian came back with little except a solitary trace. For all the pictures taken and all the clues documented, this single piece could be the key witness to the entire investigation.

Near Grace’s body, under a layer of dirt, SOCO found a single nose pad from a pair of specs. Identified fresh from Grace’s death. 

Brian scraped a DNA sample and pipetted the strand into a gel for electrophoresis. 

And now CID had their answer and they had several lives at stake, let alone Grace’s, and the unanswered question concerning Richard Strickland. 

“What do we do now?” Hartford was bleary eyed, still attempting to reconcile the news that one of their own—or at least someone closely connected to CID—was about to be charged with pedophilia and murder. 

For a while, Miller and Hardy both were quiet. Once the news came in from SOCO, neither one knew how to break the information to Beth, so they decided to wait. 

Hardy was unusually quiet. “We need…” Hardy’s head dropped. “The case is far from over now.” He knew that they needed to bring in David’s affiliates and coworkers for interviews. 

Hartford’s gaze darted to Miller, whose eyes were bleary and red, too. “What do you think, Ellie?”

It appeared that Hartford needed to call her Ellie, or anything for that matter. A sustainability for their own humanity as their resources drained thin. Their relationship, while significantly less hostile, had changed abruptly in the course of twenty-four hours since they realized their careers could be on the line. 

“I think we should wait.”

Hardy’s line of periphery fastened onto to Miller, his look perplexed. 

“We don’t want another Joe on our hands.” 

Hardy understood and nodded. 

“What do you mean?” Hartford asked, an understanding glance between the pair of old detectives understated, but foreign to her.

“After we caught my ex,” Miller began, “there were some errors made. He obviously committed the crime, but I…” Miller cleared her throat. “I accosted him, which cost us greatly in court.” 

“If Beth finds out,” Hardy began, but Miller quickly interjected.

“When Beth finds out,” she reminded her partner, “after everything she’s been through, we can’t risk any mistakes.” 

“What do we do then?”

Miller and Hardy looked at each other, a knowing glance ran between them. “We keep everything quiet. For now.” Hardy said. 

&

Everything appeared coded through language: what was said and what was opaquely evaded. 

David’s DNA matched the crime scene as much as Richard Strickland’s DNA, but how these two men and their correlations to Grace synced, no one had a clue. 

Mrs. Strickland’s testimony was given several days after the case began when she was called into CID. Hartford pushed the tape recorder, reviewing her testimony.

 _What can you tell us about Grace Strickland? What is your relationship toward her and when did you last see her?_ Miller had asked. 

_We cared for her when her parents moved. The last time I saw her was the day before she went missing._ The woman’s voice was anxious, a uniformity of the distressed housewife who intentionally plays along. Or not. 

Her responses were standard, and Mrs. Strickland’s answers suggested a woman who didn’t flinch under duress, but in the interview, her variations and gestures appeared rehearsed. Even when Miller pressed her about the Strickland’s supposed parental ties and allegations of abuse, she knew when to bore into silence for effect.

“What do you think?” Hardy asked Miller.

“I think there is something more going on, but I’m not sure.” 

Hardy agreed, but the difficulty was that the assemblage of secrets interlocking these characters was where they couldn’t connect the dots. 

_My husband would never touch her_ , she responded defensively, albeit softly.

“We already know he molested Grace, but did he murder her?” Hardy paused the tape. 

“And now David’s DNA is at the crime scene.”

Hardy toyed with his phone and Ellie shook her head. 

“No, it will be too much for her.” But she already knew what Alec was asking of her, and after he touched her hand, she acquiesced. “It will destroy us, Alec. It will destroy her.” Her voice sounded blemished.

“I know, love.” 

&

Ellie asked Beth to come into CID via text, a non-procedural approach. Somehow, she convinced herself that a mobile text would soften the blow, but Beth walked into CID convinced she was on trial. 

“Beth,” Ellie said in the interrogation room, “we just need to know about her relationship with David.”

Stunned, Beth balked. “David? What does this have to do with David?” She smirked and laughed in disbelief. “David hasn’t done nothing.” 

“We just have to ask you a few questions.” 

Beth was ready to storm out of the examination room before Ellie cornered her, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s just a few questions. David worked at Grace’s school.” 

Beth’s expression changed dramatically, as realization and devastation appeared to overcome her. “No, he didn’t. Did he know her? How would he have known her?” Several overlapping utterances bolted out of her mouth, a bevy of emotions betraying her. 

“Beth,” Ellie tried to reiterate calmly. 

Tears smarted in Beth’s eyes, but she brushed them aside quickly. “I thought he was kind.” 

“We just want to ask you a few questions, Beth.” 

She didn’t appear to hear Ellie’s comments. “I thought he was different. Mark was so, you know,” she gestured to a ghostly configuration of Mark, the other half of a trauma that was suddenly becoming unsettled. “I didn’t think much of anything David said.”

Ellie stopped, Beth’s comments unsettling her. “Beth, please.” 

“I can’t, Ellie. Not again.” 

It wasn’t long after Beth vanished from CID, that Hardy found Ellie and asked her to sit down in the interrogation room. 

“It’s not David.” He began, his voice stoic.

Ellie crossed her arms and leaned back into the chair, staring quizzically at him. “His DNA is at the crime scene?”

“Yes.” 

Ellie swallowed, perplexed. “Then who?”

Hardy procured the tape and pushed play. A woman’s voice began to speak. _He used to beat her senseless sometimes._

_Why?_ Another voice. Hardy’s familiar voice. Ellie knew that he was gambling with time, just as they all were until an investigation fell upon them concerning their involvement in the Grace Strickland case. Who knew how long this case would go on. 

The woman’s voice responded. _Jealousy perhaps. I don’t really know. I just know that when David would touch her, Richard would retaliate_. 

So, tell me what happened on Friday, the night of the fifteenth?

There was a long, drawn out sigh in response to Hardy’s question. The woman initially didn’t want to answer, or Ellie figured Hardy gave her a plea bargain. _I don’t know what David done. I’m telling you the fucking truth, but Richard was mad about something. He dragged Grace out of the house and threatened to feed her to pigs. He did that sometimes but only as a threat. Only this time he seemed serious. I don’t know what happened, but when he came back, he was covered in blood and told me to help him clean up. Grace was dead._

_What about David’s involvement? At the crime scene?_

The woman paused. _I don’t know._

Hardy pushed pause on the tape recorder. 

“Does she know how David is involved, Hardy?”

“She knows enough.” 


	8. The Empty House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a hunch, Hardy and Miller revisit the Strickland farm and uncover a secret that unravels the entire case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Was it serious? I don’t know. It certainly had serious consequences.” From _Disgrace_ by JM Coetzee 
> 
> I'm so sorry about the lack of updates! Turns out that if you get a PhD, you actually have to finish your dissertation. X)

Richard Strickland sat across from DI Ellie Miller and DS Katie Hartord in the investigation room, his arms folded tightly across his broad chest. Periodically, he rubbed his nose with his fingers, sniffling through his flared nostrils like a bull, or he shook his head as though the mere thought that his criminality might be an odious offense to his senses. 

He still hadn’t confessed despite the evidence, and it didn’t seem likely that he would, but SOCO pieced enough DNA together to figuratively and literally place him behind bars. And as Miller played the tape to his stricken ears, his wife Mrs. Strickland’s testimony echoed through the hollow room. 

Until earlier, Hardy told Miller privately, the Strickland case would go to trial.

Miller groaned, a sharp shooting pain running up her sternum. 

They all knew that Grace’s death was somehow tethered to something deeper, more intricate; a web of unchartered territory that none of them was prepared to circumnavigate. They would all testify. Perhaps, Hardy wagered, they would be removed from CID and placed elsewhere. Or, worse, they would lose their jobs. 

“I think,” Hardy told Miller before she went into the room to question Richard, “he thinks he hasn’t done anything wrong.” 

“What do you mean?” Miller asked. 

“David was molesting Grace, too. Who knows what else will come out in the trial, but,” Hardy pulled Miller closer, “he thinks what he was doing was some form of parental chastisement. For David’s actions.”

“To beat and rape her?”

Hardy nodded. The entire situation appeared outlandish, and in the next twenty-fours, would devolve into something far more sinister than Hardy, Miller, and Hartford were mentally prepared for. 

Now with his arms crossed against him, Richard Strickland refused to confess to any wrongdoing, but the odds were stacked against him already. Miller tried a different tactic. She pushed record on the tape player.

“What is your relationship to David Nicholls?” 

“He worked at Grace’s school.” Richard responded.

“Did you know him?” 

Ricard ran his fingers roughly over his jawline, his formerly cleanshaven face already sprouting scruff. “Aye. Met him a few times.” 

“What did you think of him?”

“He’s a bloody wanker.” 

Miller scribbled a note to herself on her notepad, a memo to speak to Hardy later. “Why?” 

“He touched Grace.” He ran his thumbnail into a groove in the table, perhaps an attempt to elicit a response or his own automaton way of responding to the procedures of his mind. 

“What exactly did David do to Grace? And please be specific.” Miller asked, looking at Hartford to make sure they were on the same page. The interview was already drifting into unchartered territories. 

He leaned back into his chair and appeared to size the two female detectives up. “I already told you. He raped her.” 

“We’re just trying to make sense of your story.” It was Hartford.

“Help us,” Miller chimed in. “Remember, you mentioned some things to us about Grace’s parentage?”

Richard bit his lip. “I ain’t lied to you.” He rubbed his face, his bulky hand easily cupping his entire face. “I ain’t Grace’s dad. Her mum and I married when Grace was wee.” 

“How did you and her mum meet?” 

“Nel and me met through a friend of hers. We don’t have children of our own.”

“You mentioned that Grace’s parents are abroad?” Miller continued.

“We don’t know where her dad is. She lived with him until she was two, then Nel’s parents had her for a year.” 

“They’re dead, correct?”

Miller scribbled a few notes and whispered something in Hartford’s ear. “Tell me about her home life.”

But Richard shrugged and stated that Grace had a perfectly normal home life, as far as he was concerned. When Miller pressed him about the autopsy, he denied any wrongdoing, stating that she grew up on a farm. Cuts and scrapes were to be expected. 

“What about the accusation that you murdered her?” Miller finally circled back to, but Richard vehemently denied any wrongdoing, and when pressed about who killed her, sat silently across from Miller and Hartford. 

“You might want to ask Mrs. Strickland about that.”

&

When Ellie walked out of the interrogation room, she tried to formulate a thought that Richard Strickland might have killed Grace because of another man’s heinous crimes. An eye for an eye, Ellie told Katie as they were walking and reviewing the interview. 

Instead, Ellie couldn’t wrap her mind around the man’s delusion, so she excused herself from Katie and began to walk toward the loo.

The investigation was getting murkier, with each interview reaching a stalemate until Ellie felt that familiar frustration she had with Danny’s case and subsequent trial. She planned on revisiting Grace’s autopsy, she reasoned there was something missing that the girl’s body could tell her, but as she sat in the toilets, an overwhelming sense of dread swallowed her. She thought of Hardy’s prophetic words, that this case would take them trial. Like Danny’s. 

And what hell that became. 

A gentle knock echoed through the toilets and she told Alec to go away. He couldn’t always save her or each client that came walking through CID’s doors.

“Ellie, it’s me,” came a familiar voice reverberating through the loo door. 

“I’ll be out in a moment, Katie.” Ellie wiped her eyes and tried to hide the intermittent tears that were descending her cheeks. 

“No, it’s alright.” 

Ellie could hear the hesitancy, the tension budding between the walls, that Katie wouldn’t reassure her boss with some informality and didn’t know how. 

“I sometimes come in here if I’m stressed. It’s a decent place for a sob.” Ellie laughed. She could feel Katie smile and could hear her gentle chuckle. 

“I appreciate your and Hardy’s help through this case. I,” Katie paused. “I would have quit without you both.” 

Ellie waited to respond, lingered for the right words to say, but then she heard the door open and shut, and she knew that Katie had left. 

&

Grace’s body was on ice at the morgue where the pathologist had already conducted the post-mortem examination. Her organs were intact once more after the full pathology evaluation. With thin blue latex gloves, Ellie detailed the course of the child body, examining each bruise and laceration for the story Grace was unable to tell. 

“What do you think?” Alec was standing nearby, his arms perched on the examiner’s table. His eyes were soft as he glanced over the body. It was strange, Ellie had remarked on their drive over, but this case seemed devasting in ways they weren’t accustomed to. Like a recurring kick to the stomach. 

Ellie paused, noticing several bruises on Grace’s ribcage. They were noticeably large handprints. “Mentioned broken ribs?”

Alec shuffled through her autopsy report. “Yes.” 

Ellie noticed the nicks along Grace’s hairline, cuts on her thighs, burn marks on the soles of her feet. She was the cusp of that strange separation—the world between burgeoning adulthood and reminiscent childhood—her body a stoic picture of adolescence, now gray and cold and earmarked by an assortment of bruises. 

Ellie covered her face. “Let’s drive out to their farm.” 

&

The house was dark, the framework of the building ominous and foreboding at night as Miller and Hardy slowly drove up, the tires snapping over the dirt road. Peering eyes lit up from animals domestic and feral, their gazes punctuated by barn lights. Hardy stepped out of the car, his door slamming shut. An echo against the stunned silence. 

He told Miller to grab the gloves. 

“Where’s the wife?” she asked, coming up behind him. 

“Staying with a relative?” he offered. Suddenly, he looked at her and touched her cheek. They hadn’t worked a case together in some time. 

“Don’t be getting nostalgic on me, knobhead.”

“Ach, I was thinking you could buy me dinner later.” 

“And what else?” Ellie trudged up the steps to the front door. Alec came up behind her. 

“We haven’t had a night out for a while, you and me.” He could feel Ellie grin as she knocked. 

No response. “You thinking chippy by the pier?” 

Alec laughed. “Of course not, love.” 

She grinned and leaned in to kiss him. “Go grab the crowbar from the car.” 

They had searched the house multiple times, but Miller told Hardy her intuition was gnawing at the nape of her neck. Multiple people in several departments had already missed important clues. She knew she and Hardy had already overlooked imperative evidence. 

Something was drawing her back. 

Inside, the house was empty. Hardy swept the kitchen and came up emptyhanded. He moved on to the dining room and eventually the sitting area.

Miller went upstairs to the bedrooms. With vigilant precision, Miller opened every cabinet and drawer she could find, and even ripped open pillows. She drew the Strickland’s closet door open, and just as she was about to shut it, she smelled something distinct on the edge of her nostrils. 

The closet was small, barely able to hold Mr. and Mrs. Strickland’s clothing. Miller threw all their clothing on their bed and then ran her hands up and down the side paneling. The smell became more prominent against one particular spot where the paneling felt hollow.

“Hardy!” She shouted, pushing with of her might against the wall. After a few minutes, Hardy came bustling into the bedroom and asked her what she needed. “Hand me the crowbar.” 

A mighty blow to the wall, and chunks of the paneling collapsed, revealing a small room that wreaked of urine and feces. Maggots crawled where blood and decaying flesh were smattered against the floor. Flies erupted into Miller’s face and she collapsed backwards. Her mouth fell agape and Hardy dove beside her, barely able to peer into the horror that met them. He wrapped his arm around her waist, attempting to help her crawl away from the closet. 

“Call… CID,” Miller blurted out through muffled gasps. She coughed and crawled away. 

Once they were downstairs, Hardy looked at Miller, but he couldn’t say anything. 


	9. A Study in Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final revelations about the case begins to give closure for Hardy and Miller. Alec and Ellie make a huge decision about their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “On the day the world ends […] The voice of a violin lasts in the air/And leads into a starry night.” From “A Song on the End of the World” by Czeslaw Milosz
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with this story! At this point, the final chapter is the end, although I'm toying with adding a bit more to this universe. If there is interest, I might add a few extra chapters specifically about Ellie and Alec. :)

During the drive home from the Strickland farm, Hardy was met with silence. It wasn’t that her silence was readily palpable; the tether that had connected them years ago was beginning to fray. They had repaired it, but as he repeatedly glanced over at her, he could tell this case touched a nerve marred and distinct. 

Now the silence was an unwelcome invasion. The gregarious Ellie had known was met with a new Ellie damaged by Joe and years of burn out. 

He drove. She glanced out the window. The silence blossomed and decayed.

At home, Ellie sluggishly ambled up the stairs, telling Alec she was going to take a shower. Her feet were heavy, soled to the floor. He hollered up to her, asking about picking up the boys. She didn’t respond. 

“Ellie!” he shouted, staring down at his phone, before he ran up the stairs and walked into their bathroom. She was already starting the bath, taking off her clothing. He ran a hand soothingly up her back, canting words to her through his lips. 

“I’m fine.” Ellie paused under his hands and covered her face. “I’m just tired.”

Alec reached over and stopped the water. “I know, love.” She turned around and sat beside him on the side of their bath. 

“Please tell me that there isn’t a room in their house… that there isn’t…” she stopped, closing her eyes and shaking her head. The mere thought overwhelming and disgusting her. 

They sat side by side, water dripping intermittently from the faucet. 

Ellie pulled away and looked at him, her brows furrowed. “This case isn’t ending and it’s dragging us down with it.” 

Alec had experience that Ellie didn’t, years that seeped into his psyche and battered him around. He had told her about his years prior to Sandbrook working in Edinburgh. Wounds that didn’t quite heal.

She just had on her knickers and button down. He reached for her thigh, gently pulling her to him and holding him. 

“Do you trust me?”

She smirked, a quizzical expression blooming on her face. “Yes. Of course.” 

“I want you to take off this week. Go see Beth. Spend time with the boys.” 

“Shut up. You know I can’t do that.”

Alec sighed and kissed her temple. “You can. I’m alleviating some of your work onto Harford. Trust me, you’ve done an amazing job, love, but…” he searched her eyes, which contoured into an angle of anxiety and questioning. “It’s not just the case anymore. There’s us.” She knew what he meant. She knew the case would only bleed further into their personal lives, potentially wrecking them and what they had painstakingly built between them. 

She placed her hand at the base of his neck, pulling him to her, into the alcove of her neck and shoulder. Breathing him deeply. 

“I need you, Ellie.” He whispered. From the moment Alec told her about Joe, she felt the subtle reckoning that Alec was the one she could depend on when turmoil uprooted her life. She knew what this case meant for Alec, where the lines had blurred imperceptibly and how CID could collapse under the weight under its own cruel irony. 

Everything felt grey and she now understood why Alec felt the way he did. Nothing was right or wrong or black or white. Obstacles changed shades at the worst possible moments, when a person’s life was at their bleakest. 

“I’ll text Lucy. Ask her if she can keep the boys tonight.” 

He pulled back and implored her eyes, before she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. He ran his hands up and down her sides, comforting her, calming the ache that was persistent and vengeful. 

“Thank you, Alec,” she whispered into his neck. 

&

Alec knew that Ellie was irritated with him and itching to dive head- first back into the case. He was perusing the case file and his phone was periodically buzzing with notifications of texts from her. He didn’t want to touch the professional situation between them just yet—their personal relationship was precarious as it stood—so he shoved his phone into his pocket. Then it rang.

“You can’t ignore me,” was all she said on the other line. 

“I know.” 

“What’s going on?” 

“Nothing yet. I’m sending Hartford in to interview Strickland again and I’m going over to the Broadchurch Council.” 

He could hear her thinking over his Blackberry. 

“What, Miller? Tell me.” 

“I thought you told me not to.” 

“I know you want to.” 

She drew out a lengthy sigh. “Katie isn’t experienced enough to take on Strickland. Send her to Mary Smith or someone else. Don’t send her in just yet, or at least not unsupervised.” 

Hardy swiveled in the chair, taking off his glasses. 

“Do you need me to come in today? I…”

“No! No.” He ran his hand over his face, frustrated with his own reaction to her. “You need to take the day off. At least the week.” 

“I’m not Tess, you know.”

He was staring at the Strickland file when she said that, always the damning evidence in front of their faces. He knew she wasn’t Tess, but the sorrow of their pasts had a way of tethering them to each other, and at times, rupturing old wounds. He was quiet for a moment, just listening to her breathe. 

“Call Beth for me and get information about David.” 

She could agree to that, she said, but before they said their goodbyes, he stalled. “Ellie.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m not good with these sorts of things. Relationships.” 

She chuckled. “I know, love.” 

“I know you’re not Tess.” She didn’t respond to him, but he waited, nevertheless. “I want to marry you.” 

He heard her snort over the phone and then, “Is that a proposal?” 

“No, but once this case is done, let’s get married.” 

“Alec, that is a proposal.” 

“An unofficial proposal.” 

“Sure, yeah.” She paused. “I’ll ask Tom.” 

He smiled, their reciprocation of feelings expressed, and they both hung up. 

Hardy was at CID, readying himself to leave for the Broadchurch Council after Ellie called. He was walking with a pen between his teeth and an ever- growing list of people he needed to cross-examine if he ever wanted to close this case. 

_Richard Strickland. Lily Strickland. Mary Smith. David Nicholls_. _Cassandra Thompson, David’s boss_. 

There were more. Potentially Beth, he reckoned. Hardy wanted to check in on Katie before he left to call in David Nicholls. He knew there was a connection, but what that connection was to Grace’s death he had no fucking idea and he felt like he was being driven nutty. At least Hartford could handle her own, if Ellie would acquiesce to taking a break from the case. That was something they adamantly disagreed on. Katie was now a seasoned detective in her right. 

He had left Ellie that morning in bed, her eyes burrowing into his. She reached for his forearm and told him to be careful. He had reached forward to brush the hair from her face and she closed her eyes. 

Somewhere in the interlude, she pressed her mouth to his hand and told him she loved him. 

Hardy’s long- limbed figure ambled through CID when Jeremy was saying something apologetically to someone and Hardy nearly ran into some American bloke casually standing in the bullpen. 

“Sir, I told him he wasn’t allowed in here,” Jeremy fretted to Hardy, attempting to remove the American bloke from the area. 

“I need to speak with Alec Hardy,” the gentleman said. He looked weary, like he had been flying on the red eye. Hardy paused and asked what the man wanted. “I’m Charlie Hunt. Grace’s dad.” 

Hardy nearly dropped his pad of paper and pen in attempt to wrap his mind around what he was now encountering, or what he appeared to be encountering. 

“I’m Grace Strickland’s dad, I’m looking for Alec Hardy.” The bloke reiterated just in case Hardy didn’t hear the first time.

“I’m DCI Hardy,” Hardy said quickly pulling himself together, drawing Charlie away from Jeremy. “Go grab Brian.” He directed toward Jeremy, who turned and practically ran toward forensic evidence. 

Hardy asked Charlie if he would be willing to make a statement and give samples to SOCO, to which Charlie exasperatedly said that’s why he flew all the way to the fucking UK from Chicago. Hardy appeared taken aback by Charlie’s behavior, although as the two headed toward one of CID’s investigation rooms, Charlie prattling away, it dawned on Hardy that Charlie wasn’t abreast of the situation, especially the severity of what happened to Grace. 

If anything, Charlie was fuming. It was all sudden and the man appeared to hate coppers. 

“To be fair,” Charlie began, divesting himself of his toque and coat in the investigation room, “I don’t know too much about what’s happened since her mom took her back to England. My ex is dead,” he added. “It’s been years. Thanks.” He took a long drink of the water Hardy provided for him. “I can at least provide some details. I found out what was going on from my cousin and the papers and took money out of savings to get here.” 

“What was your relationship like with your wife?” Hardy asked. He had pulled out a pad of paper to jot down a few notes while the recorder rolled nearby. Charlie rubbed his eyes and made himself as feasibly comfortable. He had informed Hardy that he came straight from London, rented a car, and drove all the way to Broadchurch. Charlie wasn’t even entirely sure what day it was or if he still had a job back home in Chicago. 

“Eh,” he signaled with his hand that it was up and down, “it was okay. She was English and I’m American. We met in college and thought we could make it work, but she missed England too much and we were young when we got married. I think Gracie had a pretty good life up until my ex died.” 

“What happened to your ex?” 

“Car accident. Gracie was six. I tried to get her back, but my ex’s parents kept her here in England. When her grandparents died, I got a lawyer and tried to get her back in America. I ran out of money. I don’t really know how the courts work here.”

“That’s how Grace’s aunt and uncle obtained her?”

“Yes. They’re fucking cocksuckers, if you ask me. Even Rachel, my ex, would agree. Pardon my French, Mr. Hardy.”

Hardy made a gesture with his left hand as he scribbled on his notepad, indicating Charlie’s language was appropriate for the occasion. “Tell me about Richard and Lily Strickland?” 

“Lily is my sister-in-law. My ex said that Lily was raped as a kid or a teenager. Rachel wasn’t, but Lily has some PTSD or something. Richard is a fucking psychopath. How they ended up with Gracie, I don’t know.” 

“You said Lily was raped or has PTSD? Can you tell me more about what you know about her?”

“She did poorly in school and was placed in a special education program. Rachel told me she was gang raped in junior high or high school or something, so she had to go to a special school so she could recover. I don’t remember when it happened, but I remember Rachel telling me about it.” 

Hardy paused, leaning back in his chair to stare Charlie in the face. “She was gang raped?”

“Yeah. I don’t recall anything like that happening to Rachel. I could be wrong, but she didn’t behave like Lil.” 

Hardy stopped taking notes. “What do you mean?” 

“She liked… hurting other people or getting a rise outta others. Before she dated Rich, she was dating this guy and she would try to make him mad. It was like a game. See how angry she could make him.” 

“What was her relationship like with Richard Strickland?”

“You know Sid and Nancy?”

Hardy nodded, clearly aware of the infamous cultural icons who were known for their toxic behavior, as well as Sid eventual stabbing Nancy to death. 

“That kind of fucked up.”

&

The phone rang numerous times, each time going straight to her voicemail. It was late, the evening clouded with interviews and Hardy’s own growing anxiety. Years of experience, but also torment from cold cases and botched cases and the faces of victims he would be shackled with forever. 

_You’ve reached Ellie Miller’s voicemail, please leave your name and number…_

Hardy squeezed his Blackberry in his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He dragged his glasses from the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes in irritation. 

He suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

He dragged his lumbering body out of his office at CID and wobbled down to the pier, his feet overwhelmingly heavy. The sea, always a threat, looked calm today. Like iridescent glass. 

He sauntered down to the beach, aware of onlookers staring at him in his dark clothes, but he ignored them. When he came to the water’s edge, he looked down at the sand and thrust his hands into his pockets, feeling for something to weigh him down. To calm the anxiety. Anything to give him mental clearance. He felt the familiar buzz against his fingertips and grabbed his phone.

The air was thin as it brushed against his face. 

“Yeah.” He muttered. 

“Everything okay?” Her voice ushered in the catharsis he was searching for. He sighed. 

“Where are you?”

“I’m just leaving the Traders. Met up with Beth.”

“How did that go?”

Ellie made a grumbling noise but didn’t say anything. 

“Grace’s father turned up. Brian ran a paternity test. He’s definitely the dad.” 

Ellie’s voice ran cold on the other line. “You’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.”

“No. He gave testimony. I’m about to head back to chat with David. I haven’t heard from Hartford about how Richard is doing.” He glanced to his sides to make sure no beach dwellers were listening in on his conversation. 

“Is this good news?” 

Hardy turned away from the water and began walking back toward CID. “It is, Ellie. It is.” The words fell out of his mouth, and for the first time in weeks, he could see the end in sight. 

&

It was past midnight before he finally opened the door to their bedroom, Ellie’s soft snores filling the room. The moon’s light was eerily vivid that night, encapsulating their room and accenting strange shadows in corners. 

Alec quickly dressed for bed and attempted to slip into bed beside Ellie without waking her, but he felt her body turn to him and heard her ask about what happened. 

“The case is going to trial in seven months,” he whispered.

“Oh. What else?” 

“The Stricklands tortured her to death.” His voice sounded hollow in the room. Ellie sat up, asked why. “No clue why yet. A few hypotheses. They received government assistance, they couldn’t have children, and she had a SEN. It was minor, autism or something, but enough for her to receive assistance in school.”

“Why didn’t Ms. Smith say anything?”

“Grace was bright, Ellie.” 

They were silent for some time, Ellie’s hand finally reaching over to touch Alec’s chest. “What about David?” 

In the refracted light, Ellie could see tears glisten in Alec’s eyes, rolling down his cheeks. “She was bright. Advanced.” He shut his eyes and Ellie covered her mouth, the stark reality of the situation dawning on her. 

“Alec…” she began, resting her hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t know. None of us knew.” 

“But Ellie…”

She pressed her hand to his cheek, drawing his face toward her so he could look at her properly. “No one knew, love,” she reiterated before shifting herself over in the bed and compressing her form against his. “You have to forgive yourself for Pippa, Joe, and now this.” She pulled away briefly, tooling the hair she found at his forehead with her fingertips, and kissed his lips softly. “We wait now for seven months.” 

Alec nodded almost despairingly, lethargically dropping his head into the alcove of her neck, abandoning himself to her scent and gentleness. His hands, larger and stronger than her, traced the skin at her sides and back, tugging at her pajama top until he lifted it above her breasts. 

When Ellie drew him toward her, she uttered, “it’s been difficult, these last months.”

Alec paused, leaning on his forearms above her, his eyes penetrating hers. “What can I do?” 

Ellie bit her lip and enveloped her arms about his neck, whispering into his ear, “just promise me you won’t hurt me.” 

&

Now that Ellie was off the case, Hardy told her to decompress at home. Ellie was attempting to get Fred to finish his toast before she took him to Beth’s while Alec looked over the news for that day. 

She laughed and said that was ironic given his obsessive tendencies and patterns, but he brushed her comment aside. He texted Hartford about meeting that morning about before pocketing his phone. 

“Who knows what we’ll pull up in a week. Now that Charlie’s come forward, we might close the case,” he said, checking his Blackberry again. At that moment, Tom came downstairs, brushing his hair out of his face. 

Nervously, Tom greeted everyone, grabbed some toast and jam, and sat down by Alec. Ellie cautiously beamed to herself. She knew Tom wasn’t taking the relationship between her and Alec profoundly well, but this behavior was a start in a positive direction. 

“Mum,” he began, “Could I stay with Olly this weekend?” 

“You have your football game. Why do you want to stay with Olly?” 

“I know. I want to work on a few moves and practice. I was wondering if I could stay with him, and if you and DI, er, Alec want to come watch my game.” 

Ellie’s gaze shifted between Fred’s jam covered face, Tom’s red cheeks, and Alec’s shocked expression before landing back on Tom’s. His eyes averted hers as he shoveled his toast into his mouth and swallowed with immense difficulty. “I think Alec and I would love to.”

“We would, lad.” Alec agreed. Fred blurted out something in agreement, spurring toast in the process.

“Oh, Freddy, you’re getting jam everywhere,” Ellie said, attempting to wipe the preserves off his face and the table.

Later, once everyone had left for the day, Ellie received a text from Tom, _it doesnt mean i like him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I misspelled Katie Harford's last name. At this point, I'm not going to make any major revisions, but maybe later I will? 
> 
> As mentioned, this story is slightly based off Gabriel Gonzalez's case with some changes. In the US, California does recognize "torture" as a crime, and the offender could receive the death penalty (when it was still legal in California).  
> From my readings, in the UK torture is an illegal act and a human rights violation, but I'm still figuring out how it's prosecuted since it's such a vague concept.


	10. A Final Solution Or Epilogue: Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy and Miller finish the case with thoughts about the impending trial. Alec and Ellie discuss their future (with a happy ending).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Children are the vessels into which adults pour their poison,” from _Midnight’s Children_ by Salman Rushdie
> 
> Thank you all so much for your likes, comments, and feedback! 
> 
> There is a brief reference to the Laming Report in this chapter. All other notes are in the end notes.

Three Months Later

When her therapist had suggested a therapy called eye movement desensitization and reprocessing, Ellie didn’t know what to make of the strange name and the stranger definition. Julie informed Ellie that EMDR would give Ellie the best chance of recovery from the trauma of Joe’s betrayal, except that Ellie must revisit the painful memories and reprocess them. 

“Right,” Ellie said, thinking scathingly that doesn’t sound awful at all. Julie gave Ellie the option of hand buzzers, which created the bilateral stimulation in her brain. 

“The idea,” Julie explained, “is to stimulate rapid eye movement, so your subconscious is reprocessing the trauma.” 

Ellie wondered if she truly wanted to do this. If the idea of reprocessing each gruesome memory appeared worthwhile. 

“The stimulator will buzz bilaterally or separately in each hand.” Julie smiled. “It won’t hurt. Now,” she pulled out a sheet of paper. “When you think of your worst memory of Joe, when you found out what he did to Danny, how do you feel about the situation?” 

Ellie scrutinized the list of phrases and that familiar feeling gestured toward a sense of numbness. “I don’t want to feel anything. I want that feeling to go away.” 

“That’s fine. You can feel however you want,” Julie said. “Now look at the second column. How would you like to feel about Joe?” 

Ellie didn’t want to look at the second column, which was a list of positive replacements. If anything, she wanted Joe dead and she wanted to kill the bloody bastard herself. “I suppose,” she said. “I want that memory erased entirely.” 

“How can you replace that memory?” Julie paused, drawing the sheet back to her lap. “What about the boys? What about Tom and Fred?” 

Ellie shrugged, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want him to be the father of my boys. They’re my boys.” 

Julie nodded sympathetically. “You’re right. They are.” She handed the sheet of paper back to Ellie. “Tell me what feels right.” 

Ellie scanned the sheet, focusing on the only sentence that felt okay for now. “I supposed okay with the memories.” 

“Acceptance,” Julie echoed. Ellie cautiously nodded. 

&

They would await the trial, but until then, Ellie asked Alec if they could marry in an intimate legal wedding before they were to return to the Strickland case. 

One spring day, before the days grew too long and the summer sun nurtured the heat, Jocelyn wedded them outside on her property. The wind wafted a suggestion of transformation in the air. It was just Alec and Ellie, their three children between them, and Jocelyn and Maggie.

Beth had sent a straightforward text to Ellie, explaining that she held no ill-will to her long-esteemed friend, but between Danny and now David, she needed distance. That distance, Ellie reckoned, she could give her long adored friend as difficult as it was. 

“What do you think will happen? To Grace.” Ellie clarified, asking Alec that evening as they were preparing for their first night together as husband and wife. They resumed their daily lives, returning home after a brief dinner and deciding that any type of honeymoon would be determined later. 

Alec paused reflectively, tugging at his tie as he undressed for the night. “I’m not sure.”

Ellie knew that her job was relatively secure, but they had begun to discuss what to do about the guarantee of Alec’s job. Truly, Ellie seemed to reassure herself, nothing horrible would happen, but Alec remained pessimistic. Several social workers were already drawing up reports about negligence, including Lord Lamington’s four-hundred report that was under investigation at the moment. Its thesis argued that the nursing staff, Broadchurch Council, CID, and several other agencies neglected to report the severity of Grace Strickland’s abuse, which resulted in her untimely death. 

“Don’t think about it, love,” he said, reaching for her. She knew he was nervous, but they couldn’t do anything about it for another three months. 

Much had changed since Danny Latimer’s death had constructed a life for them out of necessity, and later, want. Alec reached for her then, running his fingers over her jawline and into her hair, achingly slowly leaning into her until their lips pressed lightly. 

Had someone told Ellie that she would fall in love with the very loathsome bloke who had stolen her job, she would have laughed and denied the reality of such a claim. But then again, the certainty of her life was different now.

Alec stole his hand up her shirt, passing his hand over the warm skin until he pressed her back onto their bed. Everything seemed boundless now, his fingertips gliding over the indenture of Ellie’s hipbone as he established new bodily territories for them both. 

“I won’t abandon you,” he echoed her thoughts, pressing his lips to her temple. 

They were both broken people who could find restoration in each other despite the ambiguity of the future. 

&

Olly had broken the news about the Strickland case via Twitter, but it wasn’t the medium that irked Alec when it happened. It was the veracity of the headline:

“Pedophile Torture Chamber Found in Local Pig Farmer’s Home Reminiscent of Joe Miller Scandal.”

“I think that’s more than one-hundred and forty characters,” Alec mumbled under his breath, to which Hartford clarified that Twitter allows two-hundred and eighty characters. “That right? Sounds like a proper essay now.”

He was attempting humor despite his gruff demeanor, but once he spoke the words, he noticed Ellie get up from her desk and leave the bullpen. 

“She alright? She’s been off ever since this case began,” Hartford said, offering some sort of wisdom. 

“I’ll grab her.” 

She was locked in the toilets, slung over her waist on the loo, quiet as a church mouse. He knocked meekly on the stall door, muttering her name. 

“I know you’re in there, Miller.” She didn’t respond, but he heard a familiar sniffle that echoed through the walls. “It’s just Olly being Olly. And bloody Twitter.” Still no response. “You know he does it to get a response.” 

He heard a metal clack and the door opened. Her eyes were swollen and red, her skin blotchy from crying. “How is Joe any different from these bloody fuckers?” 

Alec stood facing her, his arm against the toilet stall door, his other hand on his hip. In truth, he didn’t know how to remedy the agony that had been haunting her since she had discovered Joe was a pedophile. Logically, he knew the sting was there, pestering her, but to alleviate it or give her some sort of reprieve seemed beyond his understanding. 

“Ellie, you haven’t done anything wrong…” he began, but she cut him off.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

He realized she wasn’t angry, or if she was angry, her rage wasn’t directed at him. Any hostility was directed, and had always been directed, at an overwhelming incomprehension that the man she had previously loved and trusted was no different than the cases she solved. Pedophiles. Murderers. Rapers. Joe was no different. Joe molested and murdered Danny Latimer the way Richard Strickland molested and murdered his own niece or David Nicholls molested a former client. 

“We can’t understand, love. We’ll go mad.” 

She gazed up at him, tears pooling in her eyes. 

He reached for her, drawing her into his eyes. “We can’t understand,” he reiterated to her. 

_We can’t understand_ , she thought to herself, shutting her eyes, burrowing her face into Alec’s chest and sighing deeply. 

&

One bright and sunny day, when Ellie looked back on the Strickland case, she realized it would change her life the way the Latimer case had. It was a month before the trial, and Alec joked he was considering retirement. Daisy was away at university. 

Ellie was walking the beach, Alec some distance ahead with Tom and Fred. Her eldest son was chatting with Alec, but she couldn’t surmise the conversation. Alec’s hands were in his pockets, but he was smiling at something Tom said. Then Tom laughed, loud and no longer boyish. 

A dog came bounding out of the water, straight for Fred. 

“Oi, watch him, lad!” Alec yelled, just as the dog knocked Fred down. The boy didn’t seem to mind. 

Occasionally, Alec asked Ellie if she was happy, and she said was happy. She worried about Tom and Fred. Worried Joe would worm his way back into their lives or she would still wake in a cold sweat from a nightmare. 

But she reassured him again as she caught up with her engineered family, she was happy. 

Grace was laid to rest back home in the states, her father taking out of his life savings to prepare her trip back home. The Stricklands were behind bars until the trial with an impending life sentence. David Nicholls, too. She wondered if Beth would forgive her one day, although Ellie figured the relationship was beyond reparation. 

She ran her hands over her hips to the pass behind her back, attempting to grasp the fleeting thoughts sprinting through her head and constrain them. David Nicholls was appealing his case on grounds of the age of consent. Mrs. Strickland was pleading insanity. The torture room… Ellie shook her head. She understood why Alec suffered from nightmares due to the Gillepsie case. 

Ellie thought about what the case nearly cost her and Alec, the angular figure running after Fred as all three—Alec, Fred, and Tom—ran after their dog, Angus. 

“What are you thinking about?” He was practically gasping, his hands on his hips, as he darted back to her. Fred and Tom were tossing sticks to Angus who furiously ran, digging up sand. 

“Grace.” 

“Love,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “It’s all over now.” He smoothed the top of her head and planted a kiss. 

She looked up at him and smiled. 

“I’m thinking we should take the whole family to Scotland.”

“Daisy, too?”

“Aye, Daisy too, when she’s home from uni. Even Angus.” 

She pressed her face into his chest and breathed deeply. “That sounds like a bloody brilliant idea, Hardy.” 

He chuckled at her admission, running his hand up and down her shoulder before pulling her into an embrace. “Let’s go home, Miller.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final notes:
> 
> As mentioned, I based this story off Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's writing, which is a big stretch for me, but incredibly fun!   
> The story itself is based off the Gabriel Gonzalez case with my own embellishes. Most other notes I've added for each chapter. 
> 
> I'm considering adding another story in this canon (fanon? universe?) for my own sheer enjoyment. As mentioned in a comment, it would potentially be based off a Midwest noir (I don't know if that's a genre, but think a Coens' Brothers film like _Fargo_ ). We'll see!


End file.
